


Ghost Love Score

by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Finding each other again, First Time, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Rape, OT3, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sad with a Happy Ending, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Starmaker Crowley, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Trauma Recovery, Violence, cw: gabriel, despite the tags this will actually have a happy ending!, emotional angsty softlit porn is where it's at folks, gabriel is an utter bastard, the major character death is temporary, there's plenty of tenderness along with the angst but still be mindful - this is dark in places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: Just days after the war in Heaven, Aziraphale can't resist helping a newly-fallen angel, accidentally forging a bond too powerful to escape and too dangerous to remember.As the years pass, their bond keeps them together, but staying safe from both Heaven and Hell is a challenge. When it becomes clear that sometimes forgetting is the only way to protect themselves, the stakes grow higher. Add a purple-eyed bastard of an Archangel with a cruel agenda, and Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves wondering if there's any way for them to be together in peace.When the mental strain of forgotten memories starts taking its toll on Aziraphale, Crowley is faced with an impossible situation. How long can they protect themselves from Gabriel and the rest of their respective sides? And will they ever be free to love as they long to?This historical-to-modern tenderness and angst fest will rip your heart out through your kneecaps in places, and hand it back to you tied with a bow in others.Title (and several chapter titles) from the song Ghost Love Score, by Nightwish:My fall will be for you,My love will be in you,If you be the one to cut meI'll bleed forever.





	1. My Love In The Dark Heart Of The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an angel asks too many questions and falls, but his pain and fear is soothed somewhat by another angel who really ought not to stop and help one of the fallen ...
> 
> _He couldn’t think about the other fallen angels right now. He couldn’t help them. He couldn’t even help himself. And even if he could? Well, it seemed like most of the people he once knew were already embracing their new identities as ... demons ... using them as an excuse to let the worst parts of themselves run free. He understood, to a degree. Being torn from God’s light, the very light that once comprised every cell of his celestial body, had left him scarred from the inside out, changed in ways he was only just beginning to understand._

**Days After The Fall**

* * *

The angel crawled into the tiny room and used what scant energy he had left to push the door closed behind him. He knew if anyone was of a mind to force their way in, he couldn’t stop them. It was unlikely, though. Most of the fallen were concerned with plotting revenge, spinning together thinly woven plans to re-storm heaven. He supposed some, like him, were still trying to reach terms with their new way of being. 

He couldn’t think about the other fallen angels right now. He couldn’t help them. He couldn’t even help himself. And even if he could? Well, it seemed like most of the people he once knew were already embracing their new identities as ... demons ... using them as an excuse to let the worst parts of themselves run free. He understood, to a degree. Being torn from God’s light, the very light that once comprised every cell of his celestial body, had left him scarred from the inside out, changed in ways he was only just beginning to understand.

He looked around. It seemed like a store room of sorts, though currently the only thing it was storing was a newly fallen angel. It was a small, bare room, stone walls streaked with green, grimy water. He listened, body tense. Nothing. He was alone, for that moment. Slowly opening the front of his robe, he risked a quick examination of his body. The scars were still there, but faint. They looked centuries old, not days old. Aside from the one across his abdomen, the one caused by the sword of an angry Archangel. That was still livid, like blood spilled on white parchment. His skin looked strange, tiny black and red scales patterning his wrists, calves and patches of his torso. When he caught a glimpse of his hair from the corner of his eye, he saw it had darkened from the gold of the yellow giants he’d once watched over, to the colour of the blood that he could feel running down his back from the place his wings used to extend out.

Days. It had, by his estimation, only been a few days since the last of them were cast down and heaven sealed against them. It had taken him two days to crawl out of the boiling sulphur, and another two before he could walk at all. In the couple of days since he first dragged his broken body out of the pit and into the hellish landscape of his new dwelling place, he’d kept to himself. He had no intention of joining the plot to “re-take heaven.” Not only was it clearly doomed, but he didn’t want to fall further than he already had. He didn’t want to lose any more of himself.

Gingerly, he tried to unfurl his wings again. The bones came easily enough, though with a grating sound and sensation that made him wince, but the feathers, when they came at all, were patchy and ragged, like jagged iron keys. Exhausted from the effort, he sank onto the floor. He couldn’t lose his wings. They were the last part of him that felt powerful and worth holding on to.

The fallen one closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the grimy flagstones. He caught himself about to pray that he would remain undisturbed, and cut himself off with a bitter bark of a laugh. Prayer, like grace, like the ability to carefully create and hang glimmering new stars, was long gone from him now. He was too exhausted and frightened to swallow back the tears that burned his eyes, and so he let them fall, his sobs sounding hollow and thin as they echoed off the stone walls.

Every one of his senses jerked awake at the grinding of the stone door opening, a slight rustle of robes, a warning hiss escaping his throat. He didn’t know what he looked like now. But he was willing to bet it would be enough to strike the fear of God into any angel that came near – just look what She could do to you. Of course in his current state even a principality could fell him with one blow, but would that be so bad? He was already in hell. Not like they could send him anywhere worse.

But there was still fight in him, and he made to get up, muscles straining as he pushed himself from the floor, only to sink back against it seconds later.

“I won’t hurt you."

An angel he’d never seen before stood in front of him, softly luminous in the dim room. He looked nervous, guilty even, fingers twisting together as he regarded the fallen angel with sadness, his eyes darting back to the door, clearly afraid to be caught._ And with good reason_, the fallen angel thought to himself. What She would do to an angel caught helping one of the newly fallen … it would make his recent swan-dive into that roiling, scorching pit look like a stroll along the sweep of a galaxy’s curve.

“I heard you crying.”

He said awkwardly. They both knew that wasn’t a good reason. There was no good reason for him to be there, not in the eyes of upstairs.

“It’s just … I’m supposed to be gathering information, you see. A few of us. I …. I’m sorry.”

He took a few steps forward. The fallen angel recoiled, angry and afraid. An angel, any angel, was about the most dangerous thing he could imagine right now, save God Herself. What was he going to do? Torture him for further information? Destroy him? Gloat?

“I’m sorry.”

The angel said again.

“This isn’t right. I don’t understand how She could condone this.”

The fallen one shrugged. _Don’t show weakness. Or at least, don’t show any more weakness than you can help, slumped on the floor with tattered wings. Fuck._

The angel was close enough to touch now. He sat down on the floor, seemingly uncaring of the patina of gunk and slime starting to coat the edge of his pure white robe.

“May I?”

He asked, and the fallen one looked at him in confusion.

“Your wings.”

He added, his brow furrowing. He had a beautiful face, the fallen one thought, not proud like some of them, but gentle and compassionate.

“I might be able to help them.”

“Won’t that … hurt more?”

Maybe that was the plan. Pretend to help him, only to destroy him under that pretext. What he had now was a half-life, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like even that was preferable to blinking out like an eclipse that would never return from totality.

“I don’t think so. I … I don’t think you’ve completely fallen, you see. There’s something in your energy. A sort of brightness. No, I know that sounds ridiculous. I just …. may I?”

The fallen one looked into that kind, sincere face, saw the deep concern in eyes the colour of a winter dawn sky, and knew he could trust him. He nodded once, sharply. The angel moved closer, gently reaching behind the fallen one's back and carefully resting his hands over the sore wing roots. The fallen one gasped and almost pulled away, but it was a reflex only. In fact, the angelic energy flowing into his shoulders felt soothing as it cooled the burning sensations there.

“She lied.”

He said suddenly. It seemed like the last time he’d be able to say it to anyone.

“She said we would always belong to Her.”

The other angel nodded slowly, strong hands carefully soothing and holding aching shoulders and wing joints.

“What did you love?”

The fallen one looked up in surprise.

“Something slowed your fall enough that you can still bear my energy touching yours. There’s more than a trace of the divine still in you. You must have loved something fiercely … not just loved something, but been deeply connected to part of Her creation.”

“The stars.”

He glanced up at the stone ceiling, suddenly aware of the long, empty space between himself and his creations.

“I placed so many of them in the firmament, angel. Took centuries perfecting each one, experimenting with different colours, compositions, chemistry …..”

“They’re beautiful.”

The angel said, so sincerely that the fallen one felt a slight smile play at the edge of his lips.

“You made creation even more beautiful with your work. My name is Aziraphale.”

He wanted so much to tell the angel his name. He had a suspicion this would be the last time he ever used it. But even here, in their temporary sanctuary, he knew it was too dangerous. The angel Aziraphale understood without being told.

“Yes, better not, dear boy.”

He pressed his hands gently against the fallen one’s shoulder blades. There was a soft whoosh, like a comet streaking through the night, as his wings finally unfurled properly.

“Ah, it’s working. Perhaps keep them hidden, though. I don’t think demon … um, fallen … wings are normally so healthy looking.”

The fallen one bit back a bereft sound as Aziraphale removed his hands from his shoulder blades. The thought flashed across his mind that it was the last divine touch he’d ever know.

“I can’t stay.”

Aziraphale said, as if he’d sensed his longing.

“It’s not safe for either of us.”

_And why would you want to,_ the fallen one thought, but the sincerity in the angel’s face stopped him from saying it.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

There was a long silence. The fallen one watched thoughts shadowing Aziraphale’s expressive face until a look of pain set up camp there, crumpling the fallen one’s heart.

“If either side finds out I helped you, we’ll both be in danger. Tensions are still high. The Almighty has her enforcers actively seeking traitors.”

_And yet you still came in here, because you heard a newly fallen angel weeping and your heart wanted to help_, the fallen one thought.

“I can … there are ways to make sure I don’t remember this. It would, perhaps, be safer for both of us if I did not.”

The fallen one could only nod, not trusting himself to speak, knowing that if he opened his mouth he would beg the angel not take away the only light and warmth in his new, confusing, terrifying world. The angel reached out, hesitating for a moment as if asking permission. When he nodded, the angel rested his hand against the fallen one’s cheek, thumb gently stroking away the tears that streaked it. The other hand combed gently through the tangled red hair. The angel leaned forward and kissed him softly and reverently, as if sealing a pact. The fallen one shivered, allowing his lips to brush against Aziraphale's, just for a moment.

"I wonder if I ought to take your memory too? With your full permission of course, I just wonder ... do you suppose anyone down here is checking memories or anything like that?"

"Please don't!"

His voice sounded shredded and raw. He was pleading, and he didn't care. He would throw himself at the angel's feet and beg if he had to. Dimly he was aware that he'd fallen in part because he bowed to no one but oh he would do anything, anything at all, even beg, if it meant he could keep his memory of what he suspected might be the last good thing to ever happen to him.

"I won't. I won't, dear, if you're sure it's safe."

The angel was stroking his hair softly, and the fallen one couldn't keep from weeping.

“Who knows? Perhaps the part of my energy that healed you will remember you, should we ever meet again. Ring a little silver bell somewhere in my cells.”

He stood then, smoothing down the front of his robe, miracling away the muddy green gunk from the edge of it. It seemed for a moment that he would walk out, business-like, as if nothing significant had passed, but then he looked down, and his voice broke slightly.

“I’ll forget you.”

The fallen one stood up stiffly, newly healed wings beating slowly. He closed the gap between them one last time, fingertips brushing over a cheek that was soft as snow.

“But I won’t forget you. If there’s one thing I learned from creating the stars, it’s that things have a habit of fitting together the way they’re supposed to. I don’t think this is goodbye, angel.”

Aziraphale gazed at him for a long moment, and he couldn’t tell if the angel was searching for answers, or simply trying to breathe in the moment for a final few seconds before the act of will that would erase it from his mind. With a few brisk steps he was at the door, pausing to look back one last time. The fallen one saw him tense, steeling himself for what came next, and then the door was closed and he was alone.

“I won’t forget you, Aziraphale.”

He whispered, the name like to a prayer in its own right. There was still light and goodness in creation, and now the one-time architect of the stars had a new reason to stay alive. He would find that light again and keep it safe, if he had to try for six thousand years.


	2. My Fall Will Be For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly knew he'd find his saving angel again. Turns out they're currently immortal enemies at odds in God's first garden, but the rain is coming, and who else would he turn to for shelter?
> 
> _He wanted to say more, but what was there to say, that wouldn’t endanger both of them? He was out of casual quips, and discussing the Almighty’s plan was going down like, well, like a lead balloon. So he lapsed into silence, watching the angel’s troubled face as he stared into the distance, seeing the new humans fight and kill a lion with the sword he’d given them. A low rumble in the distance alerted them to the first storm, and within seconds the first raindrops were dancing across the stone._

**The Garden Of Eden**

* * *

The garden was a stunning piece of work. There could be no arguing that. It looked like She had poured extra pigment onto every jewel-green leaf, every flower petal that dripped with colour almost as rich as the colours of heaven, inasmuch as he remembered those. Which frankly, wasn’t much at all.

Better not to think about it really. Sometimes it was comforting to let his mind wander back to the stars he’d created, but not for too long. Dwelling on them only brought with it the echo of loss.

He thought of the angel, though. The memory of those strong, caring hands cupping his back and those grave blue eyes, so sad, was seared into his mind like an echo of light after staring at the sun. The memory of the angel's sadness hurt. His face seemed made to smile, to express the joy and levity God was so capable of.

When She wasn’t casting half her creation into a scorching, flesh-tearing pit. Obviously.

He’d adjusted to life in hell as much as one ever could. Things that rankled at first soon became commonplace. You got used to the overcrowding, the pervasive scent of rotten flesh, the way the temperature swung between bone-chatteringly cold and flesh-searingly hot. Harder though was adjusting to the social mores, if such a word could ever be used for that place. Turns out falling from God’s grace is a fantastic way to bring out the worst in people.

He wasn’t immune. He knew that. He’d felt spikes of rage and bitterness too. But these days the game of “how cruel can we be just for kicks” was becoming the national sport. We’re demons now, guys! We’ve got free rein to terrorise each other! It’s practically expected!

Of course he couldn’t stay completely aloof. He was a demon, after all. He had his job to do just like the rest of them. Lord Beelzebub saw to that. As an angel, they'd been calculating. As a demon, they were utterly merciless. Best to be seen to be doing something at least.

Though Crawly had to admit, this was practically a fucking vacation. Fresh air, lush green trees, long grasses and smooth sun-warmed rocks. Swapping the reeking overcrowded corridors of hell for the open space between land and sky felt like a momentary pardon. He’d even heard tell that somewhere in the far distance was a body of water that was vast and deep like a night sky, studded with swimming things instead of stars. Been slap bang in the midst of allto that divine creation hurt his demonic self a little, but it was bearable. Not so much a knife stab, more like a papercut. His new serpentine form helped; the scales seemed thicker and more resilient than his skin. Though sometimes, when he could bear it, he'd switch back for a while, just for the feel of stretching his legs and tilting his face up to the sun.

Once he even fell asleep.

And most likely the traces of Aziraphale’s energy were having a lasting effect. Here in Eden he could spread his wings occasionally. Every time the soot-black feathers unfurled upwards, he felt tiny lines of the angel’s energy, like tingles. Like a delicious secret, a part of himself that hell could never have.

It had been easy enough to swing a couple extra days of freedom. A few choice words about wanting to observe the Almighty’s creations, the better to know how to cause them maximum trouble, were enough to secure him some extra time to breathe the air and feel the breeze on his skin.

**********************************

The angel knew what he was, of course. What he couldn’t figure out was why on earth he’d curled up on a large rock and simply gone to sleep.

Though, if one had to spend any time at all in hell, Aziraphale imagined you’d take any chance at all to be somewhere else. He’d only been to hell once, on a fact finding mission after the great war, and he was in no hurry to go back. There was nothing good to be found in that literally godforsaken place.

It all seemed so wrong. Surely Her creation shouldn’t be cleaved in two like this. And now this beautiful garden, the first paradise and surely the one all other definitions of that word would be compared to, and for what? As part of yet another greater plan?

Aziraphale looked down at the sleeping demon and wondered if he was afraid. Surely he must know he was vulnerable, sleeping like that. He knew an angel guarded the gate of Eden. Obviously it was Aziraphale’s duty to dispatch him.

But the angel had never taken a life, not even during the great war, and he wasn’t going to start now.

He took a step closer. He could still see the angel this man had been, in the strong lines of his face, the elegant planes of his spine and limbs. He looked almost peaceful … and almost familiar. Aziraphale supposed he might have passed him once in some heavenly corridor or divine hall.

Watching the demon’s slow breathing, Aziraphale wondered how he could possibly be evil, as he’d been told all demons were. Had he stopped being one of God’s creatures, just because She'd decided She didn’t want him any more?

Aziraphale shook his head. The thoughts were traitorous and he shouldn’t entertain them.

But he had no good explanation, not a one, for why he wanted to kneel by the rock and gently wake the demon, ask if he could help him. If he could heal him. Shame threatened to set up residence in his gut. This was the enemy.

This was also a lonely being, forsaken of God and left alone in the garden. Aziraphale sat down. If anyone asked, he was keeping an eye on the adversary to prevent him causing too much trouble. He could almost convince himself of that, too. And if anyone asked why he’d watched the enemy without smiting it, well he’d tell them it didn’t seem fitting for him to be smiting anything in God’s perfect garden.

As if drawn by an invisible thread, Aziraphale found himself reaching over and letting his fingers slip through the demon’s silky red waves. They felt like water, and smelled of fire. A strange combination.

It disturbed him, how drawn he felt to his enemy. It gave him an inexplicable sensation, more like a sound, actually. Like a distant silver bell chiming somewhere deep inside him, reminding him …. of what, exactly?

Ashamed and confused, Aziraphale stood quickly, lit the flaming sword, and went to guard the outer wall.

**********************************

The tempting itself had been easy as getting Beelzebub angry with you. Crawly couldn't pretend he had much attachment to the outcome either way. He had to make some sort of trouble – the consequences for being disobedient in hell were swift, unpleasant, and involved far more screaming and scorching flesh than anyone should ever have to know about it. He felt a bit sorry for the humans, really. They were swiftly learning the same lesson Crawly had learned: You cross Her, you’re out. No second chances. Probably better to know that now. Yes. He’d done them a favour, really.

Problem was, now he was lying curled at the bottom of the towering wall of Eden, watching a lonely figure stand atop it. Of course he knew the Almighty would send someone to be the instrument of Her divine retribution against the disobedient humans. It just hadn’t occurred to him that heaven might send the kind, gentle angel who’d soothed his broken wings back to life.

Upstairs couldn't have picked a more unsuitable candidate, or given him a worse job. Here was an angel who'd once risked his life because he heard a fallen angel weeping, now tasked with forcing two fragile mortals from the only home they knew. Crawly found the slight stinging pain of the divine creation all around him had dulled in comparison to watching Aziraphale walk stiffly across the garden towards the humans. 

Crawly was slithering his way up the wall before he’d even finished debating with himself whether to do it. Aziraphale had seemed so torn that night just after the fall. It was near impossible that he felt at peace with carrying out divine will right now. After everything he’d done … at least this way he wouldn’t be fretting alone.

Aziraphale barely even flinched when Crawly glided up next to him and let himself transform so they could stand side by side. For the briefest moment, he let himself fantasize that Aziraphale remembered him after all, and was expecting to see him there. Glad to see him there.

Then he asked for his name, and Crawly said it as calmly as he could, silently cursing himself for picking it. He thought briefly of his real name. The one the angel would never know. But in hell it was better not to stand out, and Crawly was the sort of name that fit in with names like Hastur, Ligur and Dagon. Still, he was thinking of changing it to something that would sound better on the angel’s lips, should they ever see each other again.

Which they would. Being so close to him, close enough that he could see the way the light drew patterns in white-hot gold in that soft hair, made Crawly feel both quenched and parched at the same time. They’d be seeing each other again. He’d make sure of it

It was entirely selfish. It hurt to see Aziraphale standing beside him with no recollection that those strong, beautiful hands had once held Crawly’s broken wings and brought them back to life. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – give him that memory back. But there were new memories to be made. He would engineer another meeting, another hundred meetings, until the angel recognised his name, his voice. Until they had new things to remember.

It was a dangerous game. But not as dangerous as letting the angel slip away from him a second time.

Then the angel broke into a sudden smile at Crawly’s reassurance that he hadn’t done anything wrong by giving the humans the flaming sword (an act which made Crawly want to seal them both inside Eden and find a way to hide the angel from the quite frankly terrible superiors who were about as well suited to working with him, as Crawly was suited to bathing in holy water.) It was a smile that would have parted the most sullen storm clouds.

It almost made up for the loneliness that spiked every time Aziraphale looked at him like he was a stranger. It felt so natural to ask the angel questions, look to him for comfort, confide in him. But the angel responded in defence of the Almighty. He didn’t know that he’d once knelt in a freezing, damp basement with Crawly, comforting him as his fall slowly came to a halt. He didn't remember that he'd kissed him, a fact which Crawly didn't dare dwell on lest he drive himself insane from the pain of an unknown kiss and an all-too-well known longing to do it again.

He wanted to say more, but what was there to say, that wouldn’t endanger both of them? He was out of casual quips, and discussing the Almighty’s plan was going down like, well, like a lead balloon. So he lapsed into silence, watching the angel’s troubled face as he stared into the distance, seeing the new humans fight and kill a lion with the sword he’d given them. A low rumble in the distance alerted them to the first storm, and within seconds the first raindrops were dancing across the stone.

Without thinking, Crawly instinctively stepped towards Aziraphale before the first drops made contact. He knew a moment of panic, that the angel might wonder why a demon would act with such familiarity, but Aziraphale simply raised his wing over Crawly’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Together they watched the first rain streak the sky, far enough above hell and far enough below heaven to feel safe, for that moment.


	3. Oceans Away From The Wakeful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the flood, Crawly seeks out Aziraphale. The world is empty and newborn but, more urgently, the angel is alone, and Crawly longs to comfort him. 
> 
> _The world was still awash with water, though most higher ground was safe now. It was cold and miserable and Crawly would have given anything for warmth and comfort, but he had more important things to seek. He had no idea if Aziraphale was back on earth yet, but if he was, he would be alone. The thought of him by himself somewhere, fretting, was more than Crawly’s heart could bear._

**After The Flood**

* * *

The angel didn’t stir as the rain started to fall harder. Crawly glanced at him. Surely Aziraphale had his instructions to return to heaven before the flood, just as Crawly had his instructions to return to hell? Like children who had stayed out too long and were cautioned to get home before the dark fell and the monsters came.

Except this time the monster was the endless formless divine being that had created this beautiful earth and the people who lived upon it, only to destroy so many of them. Yet if Adam and Eve had been obedient, would She have kept them in the garden and protected them? Or would She have sent them out into the wider world anyway? How long would it have been until they displeased Her in a different way?

Hard to tell. Ineffable, even, Crawly thought with more than a hint of bitterness.

He couldn’t stop the flood. One angel alone couldn’t hold back a God-ordained deluge like the one to come, let alone one demon. And what good would it do if he could? God would drown him in a flood of killing holy water, and then go right back to Her plan anyway, most like.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back upstairs?”

Crawly asked the angel, keeping his voice gentle. Hell was largely unconcerned with what Crawly did, so long as he was seen to be tempting people when he could, and reporting back anything of interest. Lord Beelzebub had grudgingly agreed to let Crawly return to hell to take shelter from the flood. It was longer than he cared to stay, but it beat the risk of discorporation by drowning. The angel looked deeply distressed. Not that Crawly could blame him – standing in a crowd of people, knowing they were soon going to be tossed around like broken twigs in the flood waters was hardly palatable. But surely … his heart stuttered as it picked up speed, panic squeezing at his insides …. surely they hadn’t denied the angel shelter from the storm?

“In a … in a minute.”

Crawly gave a sigh of relief, not caring if the angel heard it. So he had somewhere to go. If heaven hadn't sheltered him, Crawly would have found a way to.

“You’re not thinking of trying to save them? I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“I know.”

The angel snapped.

“Even if I could help, which I can’t, I shouldn’t. It’s …. the great plan.”

He said the the last three words as if they were a heavy burden he wished he could put down for a while. Crawly wished he could take it from him, the way Aziraphale had helped him survive in those first days after his fall.

The angel didn’t say another word. The rain was picking up speed, fat drops splashing against wood and stone, starting to stir up the mud into reddish sludge. Aziraphale watched the humans around him scrambling for shelter. Only someone standing very close to him would have noticed that his face was streaked with tears, camouflaged by the rain that traced paths down his cheeks, the weight of the water straggling his star-pale hair.

Over a millennia had passed since the angel sheltered him from the first rains. Now as they stood together watching the first rains of the great flood, Crawly did the only thing he could think to do. He raised his wing over Aziraphale’s head and kept him sheltered as best he could, carefully nudging reality around them so that no one noticed anything out of the ordinary. Crawly was sincerely wondering if he was going to have to take Aziraphale into the ark. He couldn’t leave him there, and he showed no signs of returning to heaven. What a pair they would make, Crawly thought wryly. Two unearthly beings that shouldn’t belong together, and yet somehow did. He quickly shoved that last thought from his mind along with the urge to reach out and dry Aziraphale’s tears.

“I’d better go.”

The angel said suddenly, without looking at Crawly. There was a light sound, like a chime, a change in air pressure as the earth adjusted to having one angel less on it, and he was gone.

  
As soon as the waters receded enough, Crawly returned to the surface. It was hard to convince Lord Beezlebub at first. After all, who was there left to tempt? Crawly pointed out, with impeccable and somewhat desperate logic, that with such a small pool of potential victims, he could make an even bigger impact, make sure all future generations were blighted.

The world was still awash with water, though most higher ground was safe now. It was cold and miserable and Crawly would have given anything for warmth and comfort, but he had more important things to seek. He had no idea if Aziraphale was back on earth yet, but if he was, he would be alone. The thought of him by himself somewhere, fretting, was more than Crawly’s heart could bear.

At least finding him would be easy enough. Their meeting by the ark had been no coincidence. Crawly had spent a millennia thinking about the angel who’d saved him. He kept out of his way for both their safety, but he’d heard rumours of the flood, and he'd wanted to see him again, not knowing how long it would be before they were both on earth again. As he’d suspected, the traces of Aziraphale’s energy in his wings acted like a star chart, silver lines on black, guiding him to the angel as surely as if leading him to the brightest star.

He carefully tuned his thoughts to the subtle movements of that energy now, and found the angel sitting on the crest of a hill, watching the receding flood waters. His robe was streaked with mud, the bottom few inches were soaked, and his wings, well, his wings had seen better days. Crawly sat down next to him.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel turned, his face weary. Was it possible for him to look older? Crawly was sure he hadn’t had those frown lines before.

“Oh, Crawly. Come to cause trouble?”

“Something like that.”

They both sat in silence for several long moments.

“What happened to your wings?”

Crawly asked, casting his gaze over the muddied, ruffled feathers. It looked like Aziraphale had spent the afternoon diving in and out of thorny thickets just for the fun of it.

“Forgot to put them away.”

The angel muttered distractedly.

“Got busy helping Noah and his family rebuild.”

Crawly had worn angelic wings long enough to know that they act like conductors for divine energy. Aziraphale would have found it easier to help the humans with his wings out, pulling that energy down. But he hadn’t had the strength to keep winching them in and out.

Damn if that little spark of the angel's energy in Crawly wasn’t resonating. He could feel echoes of things that he couldn't possibly know, as if Aziraphale's emotions were singing softly through the part of his energy that Crawly held. He felt suddenly how had the long days back in heaven had been for Aziraphale. How the other angels treated him like a failure who wasn’t worth the celestial ground he stood on. Crawly grit his teeth to keep from growling his anger as he caught the briefest hint of retribution for the flaming sword. He noticed suddenly how Aziraphale kept pressing his hand against his own thigh as if it pained him. Rage rose in him much faster than the flood waters had. Aziraphale flinched as if he’d been struck. Crawly tried his hardest to tamp down the restless, frantic anger, unsure how to begin explaining it to the angel.

Crawly made a silent promise to himself that he would get this angel away from heaven if it took a million human lifetimes.

“At least let me groom them for you.”

Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look.

“Pardon me?”

“Your wings. Can I? It’s fine if you don’t want me to. I’d probably turn them black or something anyway.”

He finished lamely, on a laugh that sounded about as real as heaven’s mercy.

“That’s very kind of you. Aren’t you worried that …?”

“Not much to interest hell up here right now. They won’t know. Are you worried about heaven seeing?”

“Not much.”

Was all he said, but he turned so Crawly could reach his wings more easily, stretching his left one out a bit more, with noticeable stiffness. Crawly tried not to let his face betray how much he longed to touch the angel again, the way his back still tingled with the memory of Aziraphale’s gentle hands, the longing that careened through his stomach when he remembered the brief touch of those fingers against the cheek of one newly fallen. He made a show of assessing the wing, checking for loose feathers, poking at the muckiest bits, as if this was all quite normal and he was simply deciding where to start.

The angel frowned and Crawly realised he was taking too long to begin. Quickly, rather clumsily, he reached out and started combing his fingers through the covert feathers, dislodging dirt and grime, carefully smoothing each vane as if he were sculpting it from clay, perfecting the shape before moving on. Aziraphale watched him work in silence. Crawly’s old sense of perfection from his star building days woke up and started showing intense interest in the work at hand. Before long he forgot to worry what the angel was thinking, forgot everything really apart from the feel of the smooth vanes under his fingers, the satisfaction of seeing the wing gradually regain its natural lustre. His fingers worked deftly and methodically, digging under the coverts, finding the most ruffled spots to sooth and smooth. Be careful with each barb and calamus, keep your touch confident but not too rough, try not to think about the fact that you’re looking after his wings as he once cared for yours.

By the time he reached the beautiful moon-hued primaries Aziraphale was starting to relax a little, his expression peaceful and unguarded. Crawly ran his fingers over each one as if it was the only thing he would ever hold sacred. When the angel gave a soft sigh, he nearly lost his carefully composed look of casual interest. Nearly betrayed the fact that he’d been waiting for millennia just to touch him again, yet never dared hope he would.

Time marched on apace, far too fast. Crawly dragged it out as much as he could on the pretext of doing a thorough job. When he couldn’t pretend even the rumour of grime remained, he reluctantly drew his hands back, shoving down the cry of loss that threatened to find voice.

“I can do yours. If you like.”

Crawly wasn’t thinking clearly enough to respond. To feel Aziraphale’s hands on him again after so long …. he was seconds from releasing his wings when an alarm rang out clear in his mind. If Aziraphale touched his wings, he would sense his own energy in them. At the very least it would raise questions. At the worst it might, for all Crawly knew, trigger a memory.

“No need. I’m a vain bastard. They’re always in perfect condition.”

A shadow of hurt flickered across the angel’s expressive face, but he didn’t protest. Crawly reached out and touched the hem of his white robe, which suddenly warmed and dried itself. Aziraphale’s smile told him that the peace offering was accepted. They sat in silence for a while, watching the rain-bright newborn landscape gleaming under the sun’s rays as the first rainbow painted the sky. They agreed by silent mutual accord not to comment on it.

“It doesn’t suit you.”

The angel said apropos of nothing some minutes later.

“Hm?”

“Crawly. It doesn’t suit you. It’s a name for … well, you know.” He glanced up at the glossy black birds wheeling overhead. “You put me in mind of them, more.”

“Chattering and prone to eating carrion?”

Crawly grinned, and was rewarded with a long suffering sigh, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to tease back and forth.

“Clever.” The angel responded. “And determined to fly free. Anyway.”

He got up and quickly dusted off the front of his robe, breaking the moment.

“That was very kind of you. Be well.”

His eyes lingered on Crawly’s face for far longer than was necessary, though it could never be long enough as far as Crawly was concerned. Then the angel was gone, leaving him alone, watching the crows wheel overhead.


	4. Forgive The Adoring Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Aziraphale gets hurt, Crowley will do anything to heal him. But their secret history is dangerously near the surface, leading them both to a painful decision.
> 
> _Closing his eyes, he willed all his attention to focus on the glowing energy buried among his own. It was delicate work. He forced himself to take it slow, though every cell in his body was roaring at him to get to Aziraphale. The breath he didn’t technically need was shallow as he teased angelic energy from within his own and pushed it out to the sanctified circle. The energy burned the insides of his veins as it went, a holy fire railing against the indignity of finding itself directed by a demon._

**Mesopotamia**

* * *

The final century BC was a strange time for Crowley. His job was stupendously easy. It didn’t take much to spread dissent and fear in those days. A whispered hint of political unrest in Rome, a quick manifestation of locusts at the wrong time of year, wine that suddenly tasted like bitter medicine … it was easy to put the fear of the devil into people without getting his hands dirty, as it were.

Of course he had to watch out for holy men trying to cast him out, should he slip up and get caught in devilment. Not that he had yet, and besides, what could a human really do to him?

It was fascinating watching humans learn to navigate the world, and figure out how to survive its harshness and hot sun and disease. Settlements back then weren’t the most pleasant smelling or hygienic places, but they were practically Eden compared to how fetid and disgusting hell could be.

He hated to admit it, but Crowley sometimes felt a flicker of guilt when he was doing his job. His demonic urge to spread dissent warred with the other part of himself, the part that hung the stars. Sometimes he wondered if the war was really between his demonic nature, and the strands of starlight that were Aziraphale’s energy within him.

So on the one hand he had a job so easy even the disposable demon that had become the go-to lackey for the most unpleasant jobs could do it. On the other, he was monitored practically by the hour. Gone were the days of “oh, you tempted a priest to imagine sliding his hands under that young woman’s tunic. Wonderful! Within a decade we shall have him!”

No, there were whispers these days that divine plans were afoot, and that made hell nervous. Something about a representative of God on earth. Well, let's hope he or she made a bushel more sense than their progenitor. Thanks to the rumours, Crowley could hardly get a moment's peace. These days it was status report. Another status report. Hey Crowley, did you notice anything the tiniest bit divine in the half second since we last bothered you? What’s heaven up to? Can you learn anything? Try interrogating the angel.

He’d had to sweet talk his way out of that one. It’ll be easy, Lord Beelzebub had told him, irritated with his excuses. Quick touch of demonic fire. Not enough to destroy him. Just burn away a tiny bit of his halo, or maybe a rib or a good strip of muscle. Just enough to hurt. You can control it.

Most likely it was a ruse designed to trick Crowley into destroying his opposite number while allowing Hell plausible deniability. Oh, I thought he could control it. It was only meant to be a tiny lick of flame. Didn't matter. Crowley wouldn't harm one tiny feather belonging to the angel. It was a difficult balance, spending enough time near Aziraphale to convince Hell that he was keeping tabs on his opposite number, but not so much that Hell got suspicious about his lack of results.

Sometimes he considered asking Aziraphale for help, but he could already hear how it would sound. Hey angel, I know I’m just a random demon you met in Eden who once groomed your wings, but please trust me with your side’s secrets. I need to tell Hell just the right thing so they’ll let me keep coming here, and I can’t mess this up because I need to keep seeing you.

Nah. So he kept up with his plan. Spin stories to Hell, talk to Aziraphale as little as possible so as not to put him in danger, and hone the skill of keeping out of Lord Beelzebub’s way.

The plan seemed to be working perfectly well, until one balmy night late in the summer. Crowley was strolling down the dirt road between the simple dwellings, having spent the evening sampling the wine that had become popular in the village, and listening to a few of the human’s stories.

He pretended otherwise, but he quite liked sharing tales round the fire.

It was usually quiet this late at night, but as soon as he stepped out of the small stucco house, he could sense a shimmer of boiling tension in the air. Something in Crowley gripped at his gut and wouldn’t let go.

“What’s going on?”

He demanded, grabbing the closest passer-by. The man flinched, brown eyes wide with fear, holding his flaming torch tighter. Crowley gave it a pointed look, as if to say “you think that will help you?”

“They say the holy man caught a demon. He plans to ...”

Crowley didn’t stay to hear the rest. He elbowed his way through the gathering crowd, losing patience and snapping his fingers to miracle himself into the holy man’s dwelling. Aziraphale was lying on the ground, unconscious and badly beaten, blood pooling around his head and blooming into bruises on his cheek and lips. Crowley gave a low growl and strode towards him, only to jump back as he felt something dangerously hot spreading across his skin. Panting, he leaned forward with his hands on his knees, willing his body to obey him as he tried to urge it forward.

Of course they’d put him in a circle of blessed salt. Of course they had. It wasn’t heaven sent – it didn’t have the power to discorporate him. But the faith of the holy man was strong enough that it was a damn effective barrier.

Crowley made a sound like a predator about to tear shreds of skin, and transfigured himself into something quite utterly horrible, with rather too many limbs and eyes and razor teeth. There’d be rumours and fear and quite possibly trouble from downstairs, but he didn’t care about that. He only cared about clearing every blessed human out of the way because how dare they look on his angel? To lay hands on him? Crowley’s demonic nature reared up, demanding vengeance in fire and blood. Snarling, he wrestled it under control. Aziraphale needed him. Getting him out of there was the only thing that mattered.

Every attempt to cross the circle ended with Crowley knocked back, blessing and wheezing violently. He was about to stalk out of there, find the holy man, and force him to un-sanctify the space, when the answer came, obvious as dawn. Aziraphale’s divine energy.

Closing his eyes, he willed all his attention to focus on the glowing energy buried among his own. It was delicate work. He forced himself to take it slow, though every cell in his body was roaring at him to get to Aziraphale. The breath he didn’t technically need was shallow as he teased angelic energy from within his own and pushed it out to the sanctified circle. The energy burned the insides of his veins as it went, a holy fire railing against the indignity of finding itself directed by a demon. But it was working. The circle was obeying the holy command and dissipating like mist in an infernal dawn. As soon as there was a clear space, Crowley barged through, not caring if the edges of the circle burned him a little, gathering Aziraphale as gently as he could, and miracling them away.

It was rudimentary as far as shelter went, but Crowley wanted them far away from human eyes, so a cave it was. A series of irritated miracles (and oh he’d have some explaining to do later) had furnished the space with a couple of clean straw pallets and heavy cloaks, to make some semblance of a bed on which to place the angel. Crowley wasn’t convinced human medicine could do much, but Aziraphale’s body was technically a human one (albeit one that could live for millennia without eating or drinking). Covering all his bases, he manifested some of the frankincense and myrrh ointments he’d seen humans use, along with a bowl of water and some rags.

Crowley was no doctor (healing was hardly any demon’s forte), but a quick glance and very careful examination with his hands told him that Aziraphale’s arm was broken and his hip dislocated, and his sternum fractured. He suspected broken ribs, too. He wondered if there was any internal damage and reached the conclusion that it would take a miracle for there not to be.

Another angel could have healed this, but clearly asking one wasn’t an option. To do so would endanger them both. For one wild moment he toyed with the idea of calling Heaven, taking the blame for inflicting the injuries himself, and then vanishing. But his panicking brain couldn’t think of a plausible story as to why he would then confess to heaven, and besides, the thought of leaving Aziraphale with them made him feel sick. No one else could be involved. He couldn’t risk either of them being discorporated or worse.

The angel’s wings had fallen open when Crowley placed him on the makeshift bed. He was clearly too weak for them to stay hidden. Crowley trailed his fingers gently over them as he considered his options. They were of the same original stock, right? So he must still have SOME healing abilities. He could still manifest things from raw firmament. He could still fly. He could still affect reality. Surely mending bones and skin couldn’t be any harder than, say, transfiguring himself into a giant snake and back.

But the energy he drew up to do those things was infernal. It was magma and brimstone and the feel of something tearing and pulsing. Even if it did work, he couldn’t use it to heal the angel. Heaven would know. They’d smell it on him, as if a cursed animal had marked him as its territory.

He could still feel Aziraphale’s energy wide awake within him, still bright and vital from being used to open the circle. Crowley gazed down at the angel, his heart fluttering and panicking like a trapped butterfly within his chest. Perhaps he could use the energy that way on Aziraphale’s injuries … it just might work. He’d have a heaven of a lot of explaining to do if the angel woke up, and he didn’t think he could focus on what he had in mind while managing to keep him unconscious. Well, he was going to have to take the risk. Aziraphale was hurt. Nothing else mattered. The future was merely a ghost right now, and Crowley would exorcise it when he got there.

He carefully pulled the angelic energy out again. His mouth went dry as he used his own energy to guide it. It was softer than his own and hard to direct, andclearly not happy with being pushed around by a demon.

“Please.”

He muttered, with no idea to whom he was petitioning. 

"Bless it angel, even your raw energy is stubborn as a mule. Come ON. He needs you. Help me, here."

There was a slight pop, like breaking the skin of a grape, and then the angelic energy was sliding over Aziraphale and sinking into every wound, soft and easy. The angel stirred slightly, a pained moan escaping his lips, and Crowley flinched, silently begging him to stay asleep a bit longer. He watched the energy spread over Aziraphale’s limbs like white fire, softly phosphorescent, the starglow illuminating the cave walls. Crowley struggled to trust his instincts as he worked, knowing that these days they could as much be relied on to tempt and torment as to do anything good.

With a shaky breath, he gave himself over to the energy and let the trails of white fire guide his hands over Aziraphale’s moonstone-smooth skin. The feel of the holy energy was a whispered memory of the time he lived within divine light, and the memory hurt more than the slight burn of the energy against his palms. Guided by the soft light, his hands nervously pressed broken bones back together and guided joints back into sockets with nauseating clicks and clunks that Aziraphale, still hovering just under the edge of consciousness, thankfully didn’t seem to register.

He was nearly home safe. There was just the matter of a long, deep gash on Aziraphale’s thigh to deal with. General mopping up of bruises and cuts could be explained away if the angel awoke – no divine or demonic intervention needed to do that. But he could see the angel’s robe was stained red, and knew a little water and ointment wouldn’t be enough.

“Don’t wake up.”

He begged, his voice hoarse and desperate, as he gently pushed the angel’s robe up. His hands were shaking. Crowley didn’t have, nor want, a human sense of modesty, and as far as he was concerned touching Aziraphale’s thigh was no more or less intimate than touching his shoulder (which was to say, intimate enough to make Crowley’s pulse thunder.) Still, he wished he could ask first and desperately hoped Aziraphale would forgive him, should he ever find out.

“I’m sorry.”

He muttered over and over as he spread his fingers to gently work the white light over the wound, the pads of his fingers only just ghosting the angel’s flesh.

“Crowley?”

Oh bless everything to heaven and back twice.

“Aziraphale, I … I’m …”

“Healing me. I can tell that. But what I want to know is ...”

And then he slipped back into sleep.

“You could have waited five more minutes, Angel.”

Crowley groused, working more gently and carefully than he ever had on any star. There was an odd sucking sound as the wound knit back together. With a sigh of relief, Crowley finally turned his attention to the more minor cuts and bruises, bathing them carefully.

“What the heaven did you do?”

He asked the unconscious angel as he gently washed the abrasions on his temple and neck, doing his best to soothe the angry bruises rising there.

“Of all the ridiculous, thoughtless …. I could have lost you, you idiot, and I can’t lose you ...”

“Steady on dear fellow.”

Crowley found himself looking down into those light blue eyes, caught with his fingers gently brushing Aziraphale’s temple. Anger got into a wrestling match with the embarrassment of letting those words spill from his mouth, and won.

“What in Satan’s name happened here?”

“A little girl in the village was sick. Gabriel told me I had to stop healing people so freely, but I couldn’t let her die. Her parents are such lovely people, why little Abigail herself had stopped me in the street the other day to show me how good she’s getting at spinning. So I … well, I winched in my energy so it would be harder for heaven to sense, which I suppose left me rather vulnerable. Unfortunately the village holy man is somewhat fanatical, and of course he walked in at the worst moment. He gathered a few people to wait for me ...”

“Have you no sense? A human shouldn’t be able to touch you without permission, what kind of stupidity does it take to get into a mess like this?”

He didn’t mean it. As soon as the words were out he wanted to take them back.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

He was shocked at how small and broken his voice sounded.

“I’m not angry.”

Aziraphale reached up and covered Crowley’s hand with his own and those eyes, those blessed expressive eyes, were filled with questions, but no judgement. Crowley let his eyes drift closed for a second, too overwrought to hide his gasped response to the angel’s touch. The restraint he’d shown in Eden and before and after the ark shattered on the ground around them.

“How did you do this thing, Crowley?”

He tried to sit up, and Crowley automatically put his palm against his chest to stop him. There was no need of infernal fire or heavenly light now. The touch alone was enough to set his skin alight, tears starting in his eyes.

You saved me. He thought desperately. You saved me from falling and bless it all you’re the most worthwhile thing I know.

The sudden brush of Aziraphale’s lips against his stopped all further thought. The world tilted, and when it resettled it was made solely of the ionized flutter of an angelic kiss brushing over Crowley’s mouth.

“Thank you.”

The angel whispered against him as Crowley grasped for any semblance of rationality and failed, a soft groan escaping him as he let himself explore, tongue sliding questioningly. Aziraphale had kissed him. Was kissing him. This kind, infuriating, intelligent angel who had filled Crowley’s every waking thought like the sweetest incense smoke ever since his fall was stroking his tongue against Crowley’s own and curling his fingers in Crowley’s hair. Forget falling. Crowley thought. Yours is the only divinity I want.

Aziraphale drew back slowly, breath hitching as he rested his forehead on the demon’s and cupped his face with hands soft as the finest sand.

“You shouldn’t have my energy in you … oh Crowley, if it were discovered ...”

Please don’t take it from me, Crowley pleaded silently. Don’t take the only part of me I love.

“If they found out ….”

Crowley, not trusting himself to speak, buried his face against the angel’s shoulder, fingers clutching at the fabric of his robe. Aziraphale stroked his hair carefully. Crowley felt him give a shuddering sigh, and it made his chest ache in response.

“I’ve wanted to hold you for so long, you know. Since Eden. I knew I shouldn’t want it. Even now I know it’s not safe to be close to you. Too much at stake.”

He pressed his lips to Crowley’s hair.

“But oh I just need this moment. Just one moment.”

Still not trusting himself to speak, Crowley tilted his face up and let the angel claim him in a long, slow kiss, unable to stop tears falling from his eyes as he closed them, caught in the amber of a moment he’d waited four thousand years for. Aziraphale tasted of snow and vanilla and all the meadows of heaven. The air between them crackled as he drew back, like the split second before a lightning strike. Crowley’s loss was a stone hand settling around his heart.

“There are things that can be done.”

Aziraphale was trying to be delicate, and Crowley thought he might just break apart there and then. He wondered what exactly Aziraphale remembered from that night in hell. He wondered whether a false memory had slid in to replace the memory of holding a fallen angel in his hands and coaxing his broken wings back to life, or if there was simply a blank space.

“Yeah, you could get in a lot of trouble for fraternising with a demon.”

Translation: Please don’t ask me why I have your energy. Please, please trust that there’s a good reason, and one I can’t tell you.

As if reading his mind, Aziraphale reached out and stroked his cheek, eyes rain-dark.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to wake up yet. I don’t know if you or I erased a memory from me, but I know it was done, because I would most certainly remember giving you my energy. I know this, though: I gave it to you for a reason, and you must keep it.”

It didn’t even occur to him that Crowley might have taken it by force. 

"You trust me."

Crowley whispered, shocked. Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him again, his fingers trailing down the demon's neck and stroking his collarbone.

“Yes. I would know if you'd taken it by force, Crowley, but I don't need ethereal senses to tell me that. I know you wouldn't hurt me. We must be careful, though, dear boy. I believe memory manipulation can cause damage if it’s done too often. I believe twice is the recommended limit.”

“So we can do it to me a couple of times if there’s a real emergency. You’re out of turns after tonight, angel.”

Crowley tried for a light tone, that somehow ended in a broken sound suspiciously like a sob. Aziraphale’s eyes were bright with tears too. Crowley couldn’t bear to look at them.

"Should we take my memory also?"

He asked the angel. Aziraphale studied him quietly.

"I ... I don't know. You already have my energy; the memory of this is hardly more dangerous than that. But my side, well, they can be sticklers for purity, you know. There could be checks."

"Let me keep it."

Crowley pleaded, grabbing both his hands.

"Please, angel. If I remember then one day, when I think you would want to hear it, I can tell you."

"Won't that be worse, dear? I'll act as if we're never even touched, but you'll know that we have."

Crowley pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before answering.

"Angel, it'll be worth any pain. Let me keep this."

Aziraphale nodded slowly, gathering Crowley to him.

"Tell me one day, then. Promise that one day you'll tell me about this, and about why you have my energy."

Crowley bit his lip hard, but agreed.

“There’s something I want to give you.”

He blurted after a few minutes, making the decision at the same moment he vocalised it. You’ll forget anyway, so ….”

Aziraphale was smiling as Crowley drew back a few seconds later, having whispered his true name into the angel’s ear.

“Beautiful. I’ll keep it safe.”

“You won’t have much choice.”

That earned him a look of admonishment, soothing in its familiarity. Aziraphale immediately plunged him back into a world of bittersweetness by leaning closer and kissing him softly and thoroughly. The low groan that escaped Crowley’s throat left neither of them in any doubt about his desires, but it couldn’t go any further. They both knew that. Aziraphale drew back, reaching out to stroke his fingertips gently over Crowley’s lower lip. Crowley kissed them softly, reverently.

“I’ve dreamed of kissing you since I first learned what kissing was, and of touching you before then.”

The angel told him, and Crowley felt the strangest, sweetest honeyed knife twist in his gut.

“You’ll forget.”

Crowley heard his voice break on the words but oh what did it matter. He could fling himself into Azirphale’s arms and sob on him for all the angel would know about it. He held the demon close for what felt like hours. His hands were on Crowley’s upper arms. Under any other circumstances he would have been giddy with the feel of Aziraphale’s skin against his own, the taste of his lips, the touch he’d longed for over millennia. He gazed at the angel and saw intensity in his gaze, the same determination to wring every drop of wonder out of this moment before it was gone forever.

“I don’t think I’m recovered enough to do it. I’m sorry, dear boy. I hate asking you to do this.”

“S’ok.”

He couldn’t look in Aziraphale’s eyes while doing this. Instead, he took the angel’s hand and pressed it to the side of his face, entwining their fingers. Aziraphale seemed to understand, for he made no move to capture Crowley’s gaze, settling instead for wrapping his free arm around the demon and pulling him closer so his head rested against the angel’s chest. With a shuddering breath, Crowley decided to brave one long, last look at the angel so he could remember how Aziraphale looked when he longed for Crowley’s kiss and the touch of his hands. Then he turned his head to press kisses into his palm, unable to watch Aziraphale's face as he gently removed his memory and laid him gently down to sleep, safe and hidden, until dawn.


	5. Bring Me Home Or Leave Me Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley can't bear to keep their kiss secret any longer. Aziraphale can't bear to let another moment pass without showing Crowley his true feelings.
> 
> _Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, and Crowley felt warmth bloom across his skin. He turned back to the angel, a question on his lips. Then Aziraphale’s mouth was pressed to his, and the question was gone._  
  
_“If you cannot tell me with words, tell me another way.” He murmured against Crowley’s mouth, barely breaking the kiss long enough to speak. “If you say our minds must keep their secrets, I believe you. Let the rest of us speak, then.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Miraworos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/) for the amazing beta work!
> 
> Please note the change in rating from T to M, and the addition of "sad with a happy ending" and "major character death" tags (though the latter doesn't apply to this chapter, but it will.)

**Elizabethan England**

* * *

Every time he saw Aziraphale after Mesopotamia felt like being dropped from a great height, with nothing to stop this fall. At each first sight of that beloved face he knew elation. For all of two milliseconds. Then Aziraphale reacted somewhere between friendliness and indifference and bless it all Crowley knew the angel didn’t remember their kiss, yet every time was like splinters of glass in his heart. He could never quite pick them all out. So he wandered through the centuries doing his job, keeping up the Arrangement, looking for ways to spend time with the angel, all while his heart slowly bled out.

Sometimes blind luck or random chance would gift him with a moment that kept his sorrowing heart company for a few nights.

In Arthurian England, he returned to his tent to find several beautiful, thick blankets and a bottle of whisky.

Sometime in the twelfth century, Aziraphale took his hand as they watched meteors streaking the sky.

Not thirty years later, they drank a little too much at a tavern in Cornwall, and Aziraphale unthinkingly tucked Crowley’s hair behind his ear.

At the beginning of the fourteenth century things almost fell apart when Aziraphale commented that as a demon, Crowley didn’t feel love the same way angels did. They didn’t speak for most of that century.

The fifteenth century was still new when Crowley arrived at his lodgings in London to find a tiny and carefully bound book with an extremely well-argued academic essay on the nature of love and the fact that angels and demons alike had the capacity to feel it. The angel would never take responsibility for the book, but Crowley still carried it in his pocket wherever he went.

Sometime around 1595, they celebrated Hamlet’s success in a small London tavern beside a roaring fire. The wine was flowing even more freely than normal, and Aziraphale was in an excellent, and unusually open, mood. 

“Say, dear boy.” He slurred when he was far too many drinks in. “I did rather miss you while I was in Edinburgh. I thought of you often, you know, and I noticed the strangest thing.”

“Whassat angel?”

“If I think about you hard enough, I almost feel it inside my energy. Like a little silver bell. It’s the most peculiar feeling. I don’t get it with any other demons, or angels.”

Crowley’s heart stuttered to a halt as he remembered the first time they met. Aziraphale had said that maybe something in his energy would remember Crowley. That maybe the stolen memory of healing a new demon's injured wings would resonate like a silver bell chiming. Fuzzy from the drink and moved beyond words to learn that Aziraphale felt that connection still, even though he couldn’t understand it, Crowley’s self control gave up and went home. He leaned closer, gently thumbing Aziraphale’s lower lip. The angel straightened as if he’d been smited sober, immediately prim and tightly wound.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate, Crowley.”

Crowley staggered out of the tavern like he was trying to walk on consecrated ground, ignoring the angel’s immediate apology behind him.

Two hours later he was hammering on the door of the angel’s room. He was completely sober, as he knew Aziraphale would be by now.

“Look, I know I’m hardly the love of your life, but you needn’t act like I disgust you either. You have kissed me before, you know!”

Shitshitshit. When he’d promised to tell Aziraphale the truth one day, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Probably not what Aziraphale had imagined, either. The angel stepped closer, his eyes gone ice blue with cold anger.

“How dare you suggest such a thing?”

“How dare I?” Crowley fisted his hand in the front of Aziraphale’s doublet and pulled the angel closer. “How dare you think I would lie about that! But I’m a demon, right, that’s what I do.”

Aziraphale was silent for several tense seconds, gaze searching Crowley’s face as if looking for a hint of the truth.

“Angel.” 

Crowley’s voice grew softer, because Someone help him that seeking, confused look was making his throat swell and his eyes burn with tears. _You saved me_. He wanted to scream._ I was alone and bleeding and crying and you saved me._ Instead, he cupped Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand and silently pleaded with his eyes, _please don’t flinch away. I don’t know how to bear that._

“Fuck’s sake, angel.”

Crowley made the decision for both of them, grabbing Aziraphale’s face in both hands and kissing him hard. For a glass-spun moment he thought he felt the angel kissing him back, but he didn’t wait to find out, stepping back so quickly that Aziraphale nearly toppled into him. The angel righted himself with a huff of breath and an unnecessarily thorough tugging of his clothes back into place, as if Crowley had half torn them off. Guilt was pounding under Crowley’s ribs and tightening his gut. 

“Sorry.”

He mumbled, half meaning it.

“For what?” Aziraphale glared at him. “For taking away my memory of kissing you, as I assume you must have done? Or for -”

“You asked me to do it, you idiot,” Crowley growled. “You knew, same as I did, that it was too damn dangerous.”

“For me to kiss you? Crowley, for heaven’s sake. I know our situation is fraught, but one kiss ...”

“Forget how fraught it is - I can’t believe you assumed I stole your memories without your consent!! What do you think I am, angel?”

“A demon.”

_Ask a stupid question_, Crowley thought to himself. Aziraphale was glowering at him, but there was something else beneath the surface, waiting to break through, and the promise of it had Crowley breathing harder, his anger no match for his longing.

“Not just a demon.” Aziraphale’s voice was muffled as he pulled the demon closer and started pressing heated kisses against his neck and jaw.“A demon that has never lied to me. A demon that I trust.” 

Crowley fisted his hand in the back of the angel’s doublet.

“None of this gets you off the hook,” Aziraphale said as he looked up at him, and Crowley saw the searing heat of heavenly lightning in his eyes. “You have to admit, Crowley, you being proactive about taking the memory does seem more congruent with your behaviour than mine. I can’t imagine asking you to do it. I would probably still be agonising over it. I’m frankly surprised that I made such a decision, and I want to know why.”

For all his talk of agonising over things, his voice now was a sharp heavenly command, and Crowley felt himself shiver from the force of the divine light practically sizzling against him every place Aziraphale brushed his lips or fingertips. 

“You think I would just -take- your memories?” Crowley demanded in response.

“Yes! No … I don’t know.”

_What have they done to you._ Crowley thought desperately. But he’d signed on for this, hadn’t he? When he agreed to take Aziraphale’s memory the second time. When he stood by and witnessed the first time, just after his fall. Aziraphale had taken the depth of their connection out of himself, leaving his heart adrift and with no way of knowing that Crowley’s own heart was its home. He knew nothing of the bond they’d forged on that blood-soaked day, when the stars were utterly dark to Crowley and the angel was the only light he had.

He’d been so brave on that fateful day. And now, Crowley thought, Heaven’s rigid perfectionism and intolerance had left the angel too afraid to be who he really was. Who he’d been. Who he’d been for Crowley and with Crowley, and in Crowley’s arms with his mouth pressed against the demon’s, as if he could drink the nectar of life there. Where once the thought of forgetting the newly-fallen demon had made him look as if his heart was being torn in two, now he believed Crowley would kiss him and then make him forget. 

Satan’s sake, it wasn’t the accusation that hurt the most, Crowley realised, in a breath like a knife in his lungs. It was the fact that Aziraphale didn’t think of himself as that strong, or that cunning. Or that passionate. 

Suddenly, all Crowley wanted in the world was to show him. The one thing he couldn’t do. Or could he? Sliding his hands up Aziraphale’s chest, he pushed the angel back against the wall and stepped close enough that they were pressed together from hip to chest. The angel shuddered visibly but didn’t attempt to move away. Crowley placed one hand on each side of the angel’s beautiful, emotive face.

“You kissed me,” he told him, each word slow and warm, like a promise. Like a temptation. “It was in Mesopotamia. We were alone in a cave. You pressed these lips,” he ran his thumb slowly over them, and was rewarded by the angel’s mouth falling open on a soft gasp, “against mine, angel, and you kissed me,.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, demonstrating. “And then you slid your tongue into my mouth and held on to me as you ….” 

He pressed his mouth to the angel’s again, fitting them more tightly together as he let his tongue explore, all mental acuity giving up and going home as Aziraphale parted his lips to it. _Do you trust me now?_ He wanted to ask. _Do you know that I would never lie to you, especially about something as fucking immeasurably precious as being allowed to feel your lips on mine? _

But then Aziraphale’s hands were sliding up his thighs as if they’d done it thousands of times before and he was kissing Crowley back so slowly and carefully as if he wanted to fully experience each part of him. The world could have stopped for all Crowley was aware at that moment, for he had his answer. It was in every press of Aziraphale’s hands against his back. _I trust you_, in the way he slowly explored the curve of Crowley’s shoulders. _I know you wouldn’t lie to me,_ in the way he gripped the demon’s biceps, squeezing and sighing appreciatively into his mouth._ I’m sorry for ever doubting you,_ in the way he shifted position to press their hips closer together. 

Then his hands were sliding under Crowley’s clothes, finding their way past thick fabric and wresting buttons free of their buttonholes, and Crowley’s brain forgot most words in the English language, save “angel” breathed urgently against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale paused and looked up at him, offering complete honesty like a gift that Crowley had only to reach out and take. “I’m exhausted. I am quite utterly worn with pretending I don’t know you. If you say I kissed you, I believe you. It certainly feels like something I have done before, as if my body already knew the way. If you say I chose to remove the memory myself, I believe you. Just please tell me why.”

Crowley sighed, a tiny sound so heavy with sorrow.

“I can’t. It’s not safe. If I tell you, it will negate you taking the memory from yourself.”

He turned away to leave. It was so familiar by now, the dragging weight in his chest as he walked away from Aziraphale, his feelings wrapped carefully in the paper remains of his heart, ready to tear apart at the slightest pressure. It usually took a few weeks, a few hundred drinks, and a deep sleep to lock the feelings back in their iron chest and consign them as deep in the ocean of his mind as he possibly could. 

“Wait.”

Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, and Crowley felt warmth bloom across his skin. He turned back to the angel, a question on his lips. Then Aziraphale’s mouth was pressed to his, and the question was gone.

“If you cannot tell me with words, tell me another way.” He murmured against Crowley’s mouth, barely breaking the kiss long enough to speak. “If you say our minds must keep their secrets, I believe you. Let the rest of us speak, then.”

A spark started at Crowley’s nape and zinged down his spine like lightning.

“You’re serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been, dear boy. All I know is that when you kissed me, it felt like remembering my native language, long forgotten. Oh, I’m not stupid. I know I can’t hold your hand in the street. I know I can’t curl up with you at day’s end. But I can damn well have this night, if you will give it to me.”

“Oh, you _are_ stupid.” Crowley said, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s as he raised the angel’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it slowly, letting his teeth nip at the moon-pale skin, “If you don’t realise by now that I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“Then give me this.”

Aziraphale answered, pulling Crowley towards the bed as he kissed him again, undoing buttons and pushing aside fabric. Crowley felt a sharp gasp against his mouth as Aziraphale’s fingers made contact with the skin over his ribs, and his head swam with it. He was at a loss to explain why the angel was responding to him as if he was the most exquisite piece of art, made to be sighed over and wondered at.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Aziraphale said softly, as Crowley gently wrapped his arm around his waist and guided him back onto the bed. The demon followed quickly as Aziraphale reclined on the bed and reached for him, chambering his thigh between the angel’s. He felt Aziraphale’s breath hitch as he leaned down and kissed him. Aziraphale broke away, and Crowley was about to protest when he realised the angel intended to make a close study of him while divesting him of his clothes. 

Aziraphale smiled at him in wonder, and Crowley knew how it must have felt to be one of his stars, suddenly flaring to life where no life had been before. His fingers mapped out the planes of Crowley’s chest, playing over his ribs and tracing the lines of his abdomen and the creases of his hips.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice warm and gentle. 

Crowley was undone. He’d thought of this moment, dreamed of it, feared it, lived for it, since that dark day in hell. He ran his fingers up the seam of Aziraphale’s doublet, hooking them under the buttons. Aziraphale’s back arched slightly in response, despite Crowley barely touching him, and what little control the demon had spooled out of him, leaving room only for desperation. 

He kissed Aziraphale hard, delighted at the way the angel’s lips automatically parted for his tongue. Losing patience with fumbling at buttons, he snapped both his and the angel’s garments onto a nearby chair. 

Aziraphale met him with equal urgency, fingers digging into his back and shoulders. He kissed back hard, bolder than before, a most un-angelic moan escaping him as he grasped Crowley’s waist and pressed them together. Crowley’s answering growl was subsumed by heart-shattering tenderness that left him trembling and overwhelmed at the reality of touching the one he’d dreamed of for so long. 

Shaking, he took one of Aziraphale’s hands in his, the other exploring the soft skin inside his thigh and across the curve of his hip, lips pressing a symphony’s worth of praise in fire-hot lines across his collar and down his chest. He wished desperately that he could stop time and live in this moment forever. 

He took a deep breath in, discovering that his angel smelled of rain and the moment after a lightning strike. He sucked slowly at a sensitive spot under his ribs and learned that Aziraphale tasted of honey and coming home. 

Aziraphale didn’t need to tell him this was for one night. They both knew. But the dawn was not yet near, and Crowley was eager to spend the next few hours learning the shape of Aziraphale, the lines and edges of him. 

The angel clearly had other ideas, though, and Crowley gave a short laugh of surprise and delight when he slid a demanding hand down Crowley’s stomach to explore every inch of him. Aziraphale gave him a slightly shy smile, disentangling his other hand from Crowley’s own so he could stroke his long hair back. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long. Crowley. I’m yours. Please.”

As if to further prove the point, he grabbed Crowley’s wrist as he dragged his hand down, parting his legs so Crowley could feel for himself that he’d miracled himself ready for him. Knowing he’d done so left Crowley weak with lust, and he buried his face against the angel’s shoulder, swearing quietly as he pressed carefully into him. 

Thousands of years of fantasizing hadn’t prepared Crowley for the reality of feeling Aziraphale wrapped around him in the most intimate way possible, their bodies as close as it was possible for two bodies to be. He dug his fingers into the angel’s shoulders, whole body shuddering as his breath came in short, uneven gasps. His hips moved slowly at first, but deep and sure, wrapping his arms around the angel and gathering him close. 

He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt Aziraphale brushing the tears away with his fingers and whispering soft words of love and reassurance, broken by sharp gasps and pleading moans. His name had never sounded as cherished as it did on Aziraphale’s lips at that moment, and he never wanted to hear it said any other way. Aziraphale was gazing at him adoringly, even as he met every movement. He took Crowley’s hand and kissed each knuckle, eyes never leaving the demon’s. 

Something in Crowley unwound at that, his soul reaching for Aziraphale’s, even as his body pushed harder. He almost heard the rush of the invisible barrier between them breaking as he kissed Aziraphale possessively, grabbing his hips and moving him where Crowley wanted him. The angel groaned pleadingly as his core opened like waves parting around rock and let Crowley’s infernal energy with its faint traces of stars rush in. 

Crowley learned then how it felt to have divinity wrap itself around his demonic energy and refuse to let go. He learned that knowing Aziraphale from the inside was like being reborn as a divine being over and over, each rebirth more ecstatic than the last.. He learned that feeling divine energy in his core for the first time since his fall left him sobbing in pain and pleasure and keening against the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale wrapped his arms tight around him and cradled him as they rocked together. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he came to the sound of Aziraphale’s voice in his ear, murmuring that Crowley was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

The morning arrived too fast and too cold. Crowley stirred from a restless slumber to find Aziraphale stroking his forehead and watching him with a look of agony. Crowley choked back a sob at the sight, leaning up and kissing him hard. Aziraphale kissed him back, clinging to him desperately.

“I realise now that taking my own memory must have been the only way I could bear to walk away from you.”

“That wasn’t the actual reason,” Crowley teased gently, and Aziraphale tried to smile, but couldn’t even raise the promise of one.

“Crowley, I -”

The demon reached up and pressed his fingers to the angel’s lips.

“Saying it might hurt more.”

“Better that than to not say it. Crowley, I love you.”

Crowley closed his eyes for a long moment, struggling to stay in his body, to remember how to speak.

“I love you, too,” he said softly, wiping Aziraphale’s tears away.  
  
“There’s still something of your infernal energy in me,” the angel said after several quiet moments.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I was going to say … please don’t take it? Please don’t take it away from me.”

It took every bit of control Crowley had to stay calm as he remembered his own silent, unheard pleas to be allowed to keep the angel’s energy, so long ago. He couldn’t speak, but only shake his head, as Aziraphale pulled him back into his arms so they could huddle together as dawn spilled, angry and unstoppable into the room.


	6. I Have Lost The Path Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have been discovered, leaving them both in mortal danger. Aziraphale protects Crowley the only way he can think of - but is it too late for the angel?
> 
> _“Crowley … I forgive you. I just hope you can forgive me for this.” He drew Crowley closer, and the demon could feel his beloved’s hands shaking as he held him. Crowley had once struggled to look in Aziraphale’s eyes as he prepared to take his memories; by contrast the angel couldn’t seem to look away from Crowley’s eyes, and his gaze was all divine fire and dying stars._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned - this chapter is a tough read. Heed the tags, because nearly all of the bad ones come into play in this instalment. 
> 
> See the end of the work for spoilers in case you're like me and prefer to know what you're heading in to.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/works) for the amazing beta work <3

**Elizabethan England**

* * *

“Please Crowley, wake up, wake up, there’s no time ...”

He’d drifted off. It couldn’t have been for long, he thought, dimly aware that he could still feel the weak early morning sunlight around them. It had just felt so relaxing to sink into Aziraphale’s arms and cling to the memory of knowing the angel’s love, of having been allowed to touch him, to be inside him and kiss him. He’d only meant to close his eyes for a few seconds. Long enough to let the sweet recollection of the previous night enfold him before waking fully into a world where he had to walk away from the being he loved more than anything else.

“Crowley, _please_.”

This time he heard the terror in Aziraphale’s voice, and felt sudden wetness cold on his face. His eyes snapped open, focusing as best they could on the stricken angel who was leaning over him, tears streaming down his cheeks and spilling onto Crowley’s. 

“My demon,” he whispered brokenly when he saw Crowley was awake. “My love. I’m always yours, I need you to know that, dearest.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, urgently pressing it to his cheek, kissing the palm over and over between words as if he could soothe him that way.

“Angel, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley desperately, as if it was going to be the last time. “You have to know last night was everything I’ve dreamed of for centuries. I don’t want to ever forget it.”

“Me neither, angel.” Crowley managed to smile through his panic. Then he saw the look on Aziraphale’s face and his heart crumpled.

“We’ll both forget. Crowley, they’re coming for us. I feel it. I’ll do my best to protect you, but making sure neither of us recalls what we did is the only way to ensure they can’t prove anything ...”

“As if that will make a difference to them!”

“Heaven has rules about needing proof of indiscretion. If they can’t get direct evidence from either of us, that should buy enough time for you to run. Crowley, if you go now I can at least stall them ...”

Dread sliced through Crowley’s gut as he remembered Mesopotamia. Aziraphale had already had his memory taken twice. Doing it again could cause him to lose huge swathes of his long life, not to mention risking a host of other unpleasant side effects, such as paranoia, hallucinations, and a dramatic reduction in his holy powers.

“Angel, you can’t! I’ve … you’ve had your memories taken twice already. No time to explain angel--please, please, I never forced you, I promise, but you can’t do it again.”

Crowley grabbed the angel’s wrists desperately, a flare of his infernal fire sliding over the skin and leaving angry red welts. Aziraphale looked down in shock, and something inside Crowley retreated into the darkness and breathed its last. He’d hurt the angel he’d sworn to always protect. The rising panic burst its banks then and flooded him. He was trying to kiss and soothe the burns on Aziraphale’s wrists, begging him for forgiveness in between pleading with him not to take his own memory, to just run, now, with Crowley. His words were a tangle of apologies and terror, and he thought his entire frame might shake apart. Aziraphale cupped his face lovingly, though his hold was almost painfully hard.

“Crowley … I forgive you. I just hope you can forgive me for this.” He drew Crowley closer, and the demon could feel his beloved’s hands shaking as he held him. Crowley had once struggled to look in Aziraphale’s eyes as he prepared to take his memories; by contrast the angel couldn’t seem to look away from Crowley’s eyes, and his gaze was all divine fire and dying stars.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispered in a voice like rain on glass. Then his lips were pressed to Crowley’s, and he was cradling him like the most precious treasure as he whispered against him, “you’ll awake in the street, and you’ll walk away. You won’t look for me.” 

Crowley tried desperately to push against the suggestion, fingers reflexively gripping Aziraphale’s arms, not sure if he was trying to shove the angel away or cling to him and never let go. The world turned to blinding silver-white that stung his skin like hail, and then nothing.

* * *

Aziraphale wished desperately he could take Crowley far, far away. Leaving him alone in the street felt like a terrible betrayal. If he could, he would always keep the demon close, and prevent him from ever feeling cast out again. But a miracle would attract attention and alert Upstairs to the fact that he knew they were coming. 

Despair leaked from Aziraphale like drops of blood from a torn heart as he very carefully lay Crowley down on an expensive cloak, hastily purchased from a surprised and now much richer passer-by. He leaned down to press kisses to his temple and then his fiery red hair, fighting back tears so as not to leave a trace of evidence.

“Goodbye, my love,” he whispered, and retreated swiftly back to his room.

Heaven’s enforcers would arrive in about ten minutes. He wouldn’t normally have advance warning. But Crowley’s energy had suddenly flared within him like a beacon, keeping him safe, warning him of impending danger.

They’d kissed before last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley’s revelation, as he sat stiffly on the bed, awaiting his fate. At some unremembered time in the past, he’d known the touch of Crowley’s lips on his. And there’d been another memory … something dangerous enough that it had to be removed. 

Aziraphale knew all too well the consequences of too much memory manipulation. When one is an eldritch being capable of bending time and space to one’s will, there are training manuals to be read to ensure one doesn’t accidentally break something that cannot be unbroken.

Like this. No matter when or how he gave Crowley’s memory back, it would never be the same. It would always have a slightly different patina to it. Crowley would never have a completely unadulterated memory of the first time they’d lain together. 

Aziraphale’s hand fluttered over his chest, feeling the way his heart thundered beneath his ribs, and remembering the feel of Crowley’s body atop his, the way he’d moaned and cried out against Aziraphale’s shoulder. It would be so easy to erase the memory. One finger snap, and all evidence would be gone. But he would risk severe damage to himself. If his powers were diminished ...if he forgot Crowley altogether … then he’d have no way to protect the demon. 

No, he would simply have to do everything in his power to keep them away from Crowley on this cold and lonely morning, and that was an end to it. He and Crowley could figure out the rest if... well, if he survived this. Steeling himself, Aziraphale prepared to do whatever it took to keep Crowley safe, just as he heard a footfall outside the door.

* * *

Crowley staggered down the street, feeling as if he’d downed several bottles without sobering up. His thoughts were like waves breaking on rocks, exploding into a million drops before he could catch them. He tried desperately to sort them into something that resembled sanity. 

Aziraphale. 

He’d … they’d been at the play, and then he’d … there’d been a fight. Hadn’t there? No, maybe he’d dreamed that part. Oh, Satan, he’d let his guard down in the tavern after the play… He had a sudden, vivid memory of running his thumb over the angel’s full lower lip, dreaming of sucking it, letting his teeth graze it ... then nothing. 

Had Aziraphale … smited him? Why was it morning? Crowley stopped, feeling sick and dizzy, and leaned his head against the wall of the nearest dwelling. Something was very, very wrong. He needed a drink to make his straw-dry throat work again, and he needed to find the angel. Apologise for whatever he’d done. Make sure things were still alright between them, that he would still be allowed to orbit Aziraphale like a lost planet staying close to the only warm thing it knew. 

Confused and scared, Crowley pulled himself together enough to locate the nearest house, availing himself of the family’s supply of weak beer and leaving some coins behind to cover it. He just needed a moment to clear his head. He was having difficulty sensing the angel’s energy within him. He needed to get himself together, and find Aziraphale..

* * *

“Aziraphale.”

He knew that voice so well. Always polite and professional, genial even, like a giant venomous spider disguising itself as a well mannered house cat. 

“Gabriel … Sandalphon. What a pleasant surprise.”

He could barely keep the trembling from his voice, but he forced a polite smile, mind racing to stay a step ahead of them.

“Where is he?” Gabriel asked. He stepped closer with each word, backing Aziraphale against the end of the bed.

“Where is who?”

The sneer that crossed Gabriel’s face could have soured milk. The blasphemous thought flashed across Aziraphale’s mind that if this was the best demonstration of holiness She could manage, perhaps Crowley’s opinions on heaven weren’t so far wrong after all.

“Don’t play games with me. We were archiving the old earth observation files and found this.”

He held the picture up so Aziraphale could see. He recognised his own beaten body, on the floor of a simple dwelling in Mesopotamia, and Crowley leaning over him with a look of agony on his face.

“Some trick, I’m quite sure ...” Aziraphale began. Gabriel looked at him as if he was something disgusting Gabriel had been forced to clean up, and then glanced sideways at Sandalphon and nodded. Before Aziraphale could raise his arms to defend himself, Sandalphon’s fist made contact with the side of his head. Aziraphale was faintly aware of a sickening crunch, but most of his attention was riveted on the searing pain that felt like his bones were being melted by hellfire. He collapsed onto the bed, the world around him sounding quieter suddenly, as if muffled in blood. 

Crowley. He clung to the demon’s name like a talisman. He would die before he gave Gabriel the proof he sought. A promise which he might just get to keep, he thought, his vision and hearing dimming as pain bloomed around his temple like a flower of fire. 

Gabriel loomed over him, his mouth twisted into a leer. 

“Don’t even think of defending him.”

Aziraphale felt the cold river of Gabriel’s thoughts sliding through his mind, sinking into every corner. But the image from Mesopotamia had been a genuine shock to him, and so there was no memory for Gabriel to find. Aziraphale used the few seconds while Gabriel was chasing the ghostlike memory to build as many walls as he could around the previous night’s events. It was working. He heard the archangel give a grunt of frustration, pushing harder. Aziraphale redoubled his efforts, using every ounce of energy and focus he could scrape together through his haze of pain, hiding the memory of Crowley.

When Gabriel stepped back, Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Even Gabriel wouldn’t act without evidence of their indiscretion. The first time he’d had evidence, when Aziraphale had sheltered Crowley on the wall of Eden, well, Aziraphale still had the scar on his thigh as a reminder. They’d thought they were safe, but they’d been sadly mistaken. There’d been a few other incidences that had necessitated further reminders of the consequences of disobedience - an unsanctioned miracle to save a dying child, a gentle hand to help an elderly person die without pain. But this time, he had nothing to go on.

“You won’t make a fool of me, Aziraphale.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and Aziraphale’s wings were dragged onto the physical plane, spread wide on the bed behind him. He tried desperately to roll away, but with a quick gesture Gabriel manifested two long, slender daggers ablaze with holy fire. The archangel drove them through his wings, scorching through the feathers and bone alike, pinning him to the bed, and Aziraphale couldn’t repress his cry of pain.

When Gabriel tore through his mind a second time, Aziraphale learned that the daggers did more than dispense searing agony - they dampened his powers. He fought desperately to keep his walls around the memory of the previous night, but with every second Gabriel was tearing down more and more of that very wall, and nothing Aziraphale did could stop him. With his last ounce of strength he grabbed for one of the daggers. Thus pinned, he knew he couldn’t move fast enough to hurt Gabriel, but he could drag it from his wing and plunge it into his own heart before he was forced to incriminate Crowley. 

There was a snarl from above him as Gabriel knocked his hand away, grabbing the handle of the dagger and twisting it hard. Aziraphale felt pain explode anew through his wing, then Gabriel’s icy thoughts penetrated his in a thousand cold shards. He felt every sacred memory of being in Crowley’s arms ripped from him and spread out, exposed in front of Gabriel. The archangel’s mouth twisted in a sick impression of a smile.

“Oh, you really are a fallen angel, aren’t you?”

* * *

Crowley was looking for Aziraphale when he felt a sensation like fingers of fire wrapping around his heart scorching him. He lurched back several steps, before his protective instincts took over and he was running back towards the tavern, scattering chickens and dogs and people in his wake. That beautiful silver chime of Aziraphale’s energy in him clanged, distorted and broken, like something straight from hell. 

Wrenching the tavern door from its hinges, he barged past the protesting landlady and made for the upper rooms. He threw himself repeatedly at the sanctified barrier, yelling aloud at Aziraphale’s hidden energy to help him, for somebody’s sake. Crowley knew a second of relief when it responded just as it had in Mesopotamia, letting Crowley use it to rip the barrier down.

“Crowley …. no ...” Aziraphale moaned, his voice broken. 

“Sandalphon, kill the demon,” a familiar voice sneered. “And you, Principality, death is too good for you. You will answer for this until you wish I’d left you to hell’s mercy.”

Crowley threw a blast of infernal energy at Sandalphon as the archangel rushed him. The thickset bully staggered back, buying Crowley precious seconds to assess the scene before him. 

Aziraphale was pinned to the bed like a butterfly on a board, a dagger through each wing. Each blade shimmered with holy fire. A rivulet of blood trickled from the side of his mouth, and another from his ear. The skin around his right eye was already bruising, wine dark. 

“Should have known you’d come back and save us the trouble of hunting you down.” Gabriel gave Crowley a triumphant look. “Sandalphon, get it right this time, for Her sake. Aziraphale, you and I will return home for a nice long discussion about your betrayal. But first let me give you a little reminder of what happens to angels who fraternise with demons...”

The archangel pulled out a third long, slender dagger, the tip slowly dripping just enough hellfire to burn but not destroy. He held it away from his body with the practised air of one who’d used it many times to hurt Aziraphale and Aziraphale alone, as if the angel was his personal outlet for his urge to punish. His eyes travelled to Aziraphale’s thigh, the same thigh Crowley had noted seemed painful on that night after the flood. Crowley had the sudden impression of a wound kept ready to be re-opened when Gabriel wanted it and felt bile rising in his throat. 

Gabriel raised the dagger, aiming for the site of the old injury, but before he could strike, Crowley leaped towards him with a hellish roar, unholy fire flaring from his hands. Gabriel turned to meet him, miraculously exchanging hellfire dagger for holy-fire sword.

Crowley could have dodged it. Crowley would have dodged it, if Uriel hadn’t blinked into existence and grabbed him, yanking his arms behind his back. Unable to break free, Crowley faced the wrathful archangel, completely fearless as Gabriel raised the flaming sword to strike.

* * *

Aziraphale’s world narrowed to a single image - a flaming sword pointed straight at his beloved’s chest as Uriel held him immobile. And yet he couldn’t move to stop it. The daggers had dampened what little divine energy he had left, and his body was shutting down, succumbing to the trauma wrought upon him by Sandalphon. But the daggers had been fine tuned to his energy. Not to the demonic energy buried inside him. 

Aziraphale gathered the last of his strength and reached out to Crowley’s energy within him, pleading with it to help him. He felt it rush through him like a dark supernova, flooding his limbs with the power he so desperately needed. He heard himself shouting Crowley’s name, and vaguely registered that the sickening tearing sensation he felt was his own wings ripping. But then he was between Crowley and the flaming sword, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

Crowley saw the burning blade exit his angel’s back as Gabriel drove it through him. He heard himself screaming Aziraphale’s name, the angel’s silver chimes of energy shattering inside Crowley like a thousand tiny explosives ripping him apart.

Crowley struck back at Uriel so hard he heard bones crunching, leaping fast enough to catch Aziraphale as he fell. He cradled the angel carefully, so carefully, in his arms as Aziraphale sank to the floor slowly, as if he’d merely fainted. 

“You’re supposed to be dead!”

Gabriel shouted at Crowley, his face contorted in utter rage that Crowley had survived while his favorite plaything lay dead on the floor. Gabriel lunged towards them, grasping for Aziraphale, gesturing at Uriel and Sandalphon to descend on the demon. 

Outnumbered and too broken to defend himself, Crowley did the only thing he could think of. He snapped his fingers and took them to the one place he'd felt safe so many eons ago.

It was quiet among the stars he’d made. Suspended in the sky, they were completely alone. It felt so intimate, being here with Aziraphale and only Aziraphale, not another living thing for countless miles around.

“Angel, angel.” It was all he could say, the only word his mouth would make as his broken heart burned him to cinders from the inside. He gingerly touched the side of Aziraphale’s face. Up close the fracture to his temporal bone was obvious. Crowley looked down and saw the scorched tear in his chest, blood soaking the angel’s clothes.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he muttered desperately, pulling all the angelic energy he could from inside him, trying to direct it to do something, anything. “You can’t … you can’t ….”

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered half open. For a split second Crowley saw a flicker of recognition, love, and relief. Then the light in them went out, and Crowley’s heart drowned in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoilers** for this chapter and the next, for those who like to know what they're getting in to (or is that just me?)
> 
> Gabriel is a sadistic bastard in this one. Aziraphale is tortured, beaten, and has his mind invaded (though the descriptions warrant an M not an E rating, so nasty but not stomach churningly graphic.) Aziraphale dies, in this chapter. It's temporary, however.
> 
> Comments are always very welcome, and thank you for taking the time to read.
> 
> You can come say hi on [Tumblr](http://azfell-and-his-demon.tumblr.com)!


	7. Time To Never Hold Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost among the stars with his angel lying dead in his arms, Crowley decides to do whatever it takes to save the one he loves. But his desperate plan to save Aziraphale has unintended consequences.
> 
> _Discorporation meant one thing – his angel’s spirit would return to heaven, where Gabriel would be waiting. He’d sworn to keep Aziraphale safe from them. He would do anything - risk anything - to keep that promise. Even if it meant his own discorporation. Crowley was sobbing, his hands desperately trying to hold on to Aziraphale. There was only one possible way he could give more energy - and it was risky. He had no idea if it would work, or what the consequences might be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to [ Mira Woros ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/) for the amazing beta work - and especially for straightening out the metaphysics, which was tripping over its own feet!

**Among The Stars**

* * *

Crowley’s body shook with the effort of trying to hold Aziraphale’s rapidly discorporating form together, hovering with him there among the stars. He was using every ounce of his infernal energy to prevent his angel dispersing through his hands and vanishing into the sky around them, pain singing through his veins as he drained his own life force to almost nothing. But still Aziraphale’s body grew further transparent.

“Stay.” He begged, fingers threading carefully through the blood-streaked thistledown of the angel’s curls. “Stay, stay, I can’t, _Aziraphale_ ….”

It wasn’t working, nothing was working, and now his hands were passing through the angel’s corporation as it slowly broke apart like fractured moonlight on ocean waves. Crowley’s shipwrecked heart splintered on jagged grief as he watched the only light he’d ever known fading. 

Discorporation meant one thing – his angel’s spirit would return to heaven, where Gabriel would be waiting. He’d sworn to keep Aziraphale safe from them. He would do anything - risk anything - to keep that promise. Even if it meant his own discorporation. Crowley was sobbing, his hands desperately trying to hold on to Aziraphale. There was only one possible way he could give more energy - and it was risky. He had no idea if it would work, or what the consequences might be.

There was no time to think, and what did he care, anyway? He was already losing the only thing he’d ever loved, and no price could be worse than that. Pressing a last, desperate kiss to the angel’s forehead, Crowley shed his corporation like a snake skin and poured his essence into Aziraphale’s, letting it merge with him like rain dissolving into the ocean.   
It might have been moments later or it might have been millennia. Crowley had no way of knowing. At first the only thing he was aware of was a slow, steady heartbeat. Confused, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. The sound surrounded and filled him. He was still among the stars, suspended in the sky … and Aziraphale was lying curled next to him. His angel was alive. Crowley himself was alive. He was too dazed to figure out the mechanics, but all that mattered was that Aziraphale was beside him.

Tears spilled down Crowley’s face, falling through space and breaking like tiny waves over his hands and arms. Following their path, Crowley stared in shock at the star charts writ across his skin. Looking around, he saw the edges of the strange bubble in which they were now suspended, shimmering like the halo around a candle flame. The inside of the bubble appeared to obey the laws of gravity, and outside … outside was star-studded darkness as far as the eye could see. Before he could ask any further questions – and oh he had a LOT – Aziraphale opened his eyes blearily and stared up at him.

“Crowley?”

“Angel …”

The rest of the sentence tangled round itself and refused to come out._ Angel, I love you, I don’t know how to get you out of this, I think I’m still bleeding grief over here, I need to touch you …_

Aziraphale sat up groggily and stared around him, wide-eyed with shock.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Crowley gaped at him. Only his angel could wake up from near-discorporation, hanging in the sky, and make it sound like Crowley had just surprised him in the middle of reading a rare book.

“Who else would you be floating in the middle of space with?”

Aziraphale managed a tiny laugh at that, but his eyes were wide with fear and confusion.

“Are we … dead?”

“Yes … no … angel, I don’t bloody know what we are. One minute we’re in the tavern, then it’s morning, then Gabriel is signing his own death warrant for later, then you … you died, you died, and I ...”

Crowley buried his face in his hands. He tried to say more, but even here in this unreal space, his teeth chattered too hard to make words come out. Aziraphale sat up slowly, and moved so he could wrap his hands around Crowley’s upper arms. 

“Crowley, I need you to know that I … I took a memory from you. I had to. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek so gently against Aziraphale’s, gathering the angel against his chest and rocking him.

“Doesn’t matter now. Maybe one day you can give it back to me.”

Aziraphale nodded against him, and Crowley leaned down to kiss his hair.

“I’m going to make this right, angel. Don’t know how yet. But I am.”

Aziraphale wrapped both arms around Crowley’s waist then, holding him close. Crowley’s mind drifted back to Mesopotamia, and he wondered for a moment if he ought to tell the angel about their kiss. He decided he didn’t need to, not yet. The way Aziraphale stroked his back and sides told Crowley everything he needed to know. There was no need for pretence, there in the quiet darkness.

Another few minutes (or eons) of silence passed, before Aziraphale spoke quietly against Crowley’s chest.

“You do realise you’re an angel again?” he said slowly, rubbing Crowley’s arm as if to soothe him through receiving bad news.

Cruowley glanced down at the star charts on his arms and noticed the golden fall of his hair when he moved. He knew. He’d known from the moment he opened his eyes. But he hadn’t been ready to face it then, and his angel had needed him. Far easier to focus on Aziraphale, and force his feelings into a six-inch thick lead box and throw away the key. 

But he could no longer deny that the heartbeat he heard was the heartbeat of God inside him. Rage flared in him hotter than any holy or hellfire, and if he could have torn the Almighty apart with his bare hands, he would have.

“Oh, that’s just bloody perfect!” He spat. “Now she tries to take me back. Well, I don’t want to come back, d’ya hear me? Your bastard angels killed him. I hope the whole of heaven gets dragged to hell. I hope the entrance hall is decorated with your heads on the spikes of your own flaming swords, the lot of you!”

Aziraphale’s fingers were pressed gently to his lips, shushing him.

“I don’t want to be an angel,” Crowley protested against those fingers, stricken. “You can’t just … She can’t just …”

“But mightn’t it be better this way? If we ever find our way out of here, that is. At least this way, they might leave us alone.”

Crowley bit his lip hard lest he say something that would hurt his angel. Being the same kind of occult being as Aziraphale … he could live with that, he supposed. But being Hers again? That was a matter of principle. And Crowley’s principles said no fucking thank you.

“If Heaven doesn’t want you, it sure as hell doesn’t get me,” he growled, ghosting his hands over the angel’s arms and chest and back. Aziraphale was looking at him with such love and concern that Crowley started to cry again.

“Hurts, being a demon.” He rasped out. “You get used to it but s’like having an event horizon gnawing away at you constantly. Not made to be separated from Her, were we? I don’t want to go back,” he added quickly, not entirely sure if he was convincing Aziraphale or himself “but it’s nice not being in pain.”

Aziraphale was looking at him in horror, reaching out to rub Crowley’s solar plexus, as if sensing the sore spots still ragged from being torn from Her.

“May I look at your energy and see if I can figure out what happened? I’ll look at my own too of course but I rather suspect I have only half the puzzle.”

Crowley was about to say yes. Aziraphale was fiercely intelligent, and the only person Crowley would willingly let near his inner structure of flames and wheels and star-burnt darkness. But then he remembered Aziraphale’s hands healing his broken wings so long ago, and paused. He had to think ahead – just because they were in a new and strange situation, didn’t make it safe for Aziraphale to know what had happened after Crowley’s fall. Or in the cave. 

“There … there are things you can’t see, angel. That I must hide from you.”

Aziraphale gave him a strange look, as if he was struggling to swallow back words that wanted to be set free. Crowley wondered briefly which memory Aziraphale had taken from him, but now wasn’t the time to discuss that. Aziraphale gave him the tiniest of smiles, and his eyes were soft and trusting.

“Hide whatever you must, dearest. I trust you have good reason.”

There he went again. Trusting Crowley without question. He loved the angel so much it ached, and suddenly he realised how very fortunate he was that Aziraphale had chosen him out of all the other demons suffering that day.

Crowley nodded agreement, and Aziraphale let his essence spiral out like tendrils of pale sunlight to explore Crowley’s. It was far more intimate than he’d expected, the feeling sending thrills down his spine and thighs, and eliciting a gasp. Aziraphale’s smile widened a little at that, and he leaned up to kiss Crowley’s cheek softly as he worked. 

“Dear boy, you appear to have a rather powerful swathe of my energy within you.”

Crowley didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, remembering Aziraphale discovering that fact for the first time in Mesopotamia. It was so strange to see the dawning realisation on his face, and the surprise in the wide blue eyes, while Crowley remembered having this very conversation with him previously.

“I can explain, angel.”

“No, it’s not of paramount importance right now.” He pressed his energy a little more firmly into Crowley’s structure, exploring, and Crowley shivered, focusing on the sensation and trying desperately to ignore his newly reinstated Grace. 

“You merged with me.” Aziraphale said softly. “You …. made us one.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley grabbed the angel’s hand, as if he might try to fly away. “I … I was so desperate, angel, it was the only way I could think to save you. Fuck, I wasn’t even sure what would happen, didn’t realise we’d merge. I just … rushed in. I wish I could have asked you first, Angel, I’m so sorry …”

Aziraphale looked up at him, with the worried gaze Crowley knew so well. “It appears the divine and infernal energies in each of us met and mingled, and created this unique guarded space. It’s neither of hell, nor of heaven, and therefore protected from both.” 

“And my newly reacquired halo?”

Aziraphale studied Crowley for a long moment. Crowley wondered desperately what he saw. If he preferred what he saw. 

“I think ...” Aziraphale said slowly, carefully, as if afraid of causing offence. “I think, my dear, that my energy, er.”

He trailed off and busied himself gently poking and prodding at Crowley’s energy as if Crowley were a particularly awkward volume that he was rebinding. Crowley gave him a look. 

“Angel, we’re suspended in a mystical space bubble from which we have yet to figure out how to escape. What could be worse? Tell me, for Someone’s sake.”

“Well, I .. I have cause to believe that when the vestiges of divine energy in you met my own, then my divine essence, um, latched onto that and filtered your demonic energy.”

Crowley couldn’t speak for several long moments. When he did, the acid in his voice could have burned a hole in the fabric of space.

“Made me pure again? How generous.”

“Crowley, I wasn’t even conscious! I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Please....” Aziraphale moved to lean his forehead on Crowley’s, and suddenly Crowley knew that they’d been more intimate than he could ever have dreamed. Something in the familiarity of the way Aziraphale so naturally reached out to him, the way he so comfortably leaned against Crowley and touched his hair and chest, told the story the angel was trying so desperately not to tell in words. Despite everything, Crowley felt a smile playing on his lips.

“Angel … did we …..”

Aziraphale bit his lip, closing his eyes as if he could hide the truth in them. Then he shook his head slightly, and opened them again, nodded, and smiled back. 

Crowley drew in a sharp breath, reaching out to rub his thumb over the angel’s lower lip, his heart flip-flopping at the way Aziraphale kissed it.

“Well. This day does have some good in it.”

“I would have thought me being alive again was good enough.” Aziraphale teased a little, but his look was solemn. “Crowley, I … I love you, I … being with you was everything I had ever dreamed or wanted. I would never try to change you. I’m so sorry that I did.”

“S’ok angel, I believe you.” Crowley was about to ask if what he’d witnessed in the tavern had anything to do with he and Aziraphale being together, but talk of those bastards could wait until they weren’t suspended in a starry bubble above a fathomless celestial world. 

Every so often Aziraphale glanced around at the endless sky with barely disguised worry. Crowley put his arm around the angel and pulled him against his side, talking softly while he cradled Aziraphale, his mind sorting quickly through possible solutions to their predicament.

“See that one there?” He pointed to a star that shimmered bluer than the sky on a summer’s day. “I made that one. And that one over there. Actually, you can just about make out a nebula I helped with over there ….”

“They’re so beautiful.” Aziraphale said softly. “If we can’t get out of this, Crowley, I can think of no better place to die than here in your arms, among your creations.”

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic, angel. We’ll figure it out. I just need to think.”

Lying down, Crowley gazed at the stars around him. So many times he’d drifted among the stars, letting their presence calm him until he could think more clearly. Part of him didn’t want to figure it out yet. He never thought to be here again, and he was loathe to let it go. Aziraphale must have sensed it, for he curled into Crowley’s side with his head on his chest and his arm around his waist.

“Let’s stay here for a little while, dear boy. As far as I can ascertain we’re perfectly safe here, and really, how often in the last six thousand years have we had peace and quiet?”

Crowley leaned down and kissed the angel’s soft curls, brighter than ever in the light of the stars. Aziraphale laid his palm carefully over Crowley’s midsection, and he could feel the angel sending soothing, healing thoughts to his own restored divine energy, calming it. 

“Angel?”

“Hm?”

“We kissed before last night.”

He felt Aziraphale smile against his chest.

“I know darling. You told me last night.”

“Oh.”

Crowley was quiet, stroking the angel’s hair, and wondering if there was an acceptable way to apologise for putting him in such danger. Because he had, hadn’t he? He’d clearly been unable to control his lust, and Aziraphale had nearly died as a result. He shuddered slightly, and the angel looked up at once.

“Don’t you do that. I chose to be with you, knowing the trouble I could get in. It was my idea.”

Crowley stared at him. 

“It was?”

“Yes, darling. You told me that we’d kissed once before. I wanted to know why you’d taken my memory of that - you argued with perfect logic that if you told me, it would negate the taking of it. And then, well, I suppose I simply couldn’t bear it any more. I needed you, in any way I could have you.”

Crowley tucked his wing around the angel, trying to ignore the stab of shock that went through him at the sight of his own white feathers.

“Perhaps one day, angel, I can tell you about our first kiss, and you can tell me about our second.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly.

“I’d like that.”

After a few more moments of sweet starswept peace, Azriaphale looked up at him, eyes dark with worry.

“What are we going to do, Crowley?”

Crowley looked thoughtfully down at the angel.

“I did have a sort of an idea.”

“Yes?”

“Well … we could simply focus on earth and head back, I suppose.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“Crowley, what are you up to?”

“I think as we head back I can tweak the timing of our landing a little and put us back at the moment before … before you were, um, stabbed. We can, as it were, arrive before we left, and merge with ourselves in that moment. Reinhabit our past corporeal forms as it were.”

“I’m not certain even angels can time travel, dear. Why not just take us back to wherever we would naturally land?”

Crowley took a deep breath.

“If I time it right, I can make those bastard angels forget what they know about us. Otherwise, I’ll have to try and track them down individually, which is far too risky.”

“And this isn’t?! You’re planning to pinpoint the exact moment in time when all three of them are there, and erase their memories in one fell swoop, while merging us with our existing (and must I remind you, injured) bodies?”

“Well … yes.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes.

“Even if it worked, it would mean ...”

“Putting us back at the precise moment before he stabbed you. Angel, I … you’re right … we should find another way.”

“No.” Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against Crowley’s cheek. “No, removing their memories is likely the best chance we have to ensure our continued survival, and I for one am very much in favour of that.” 

“Your wings will be damaged....”

“We can heal them.”

“If I get it wrong….”

“You won’t. But Crowley … you being an angel again ...”

“Will attract far too much attention, I know. Don’t think She’d let me stay this way, not now I realise it was … well, it was you, not Her. Your grace returned mine to me. And even if She would let me, and even if I wanted to …”

Crowley stopped, biting his tongue. Even if he wanted to? Fuck there was far too much to unpack there. Something else for the vault stuffed full of things he didn’t look at.

“If I’m a demon again, it’ll be business as usual as far as my lot, and your lot, are concerned. If I’m an angel again, people will ask questions eventually. And if it gets out that you filtered my energy, that you restored me in a way only She should have been able to do … the consequences don’t bear thinking about. I’ll just have to … you know. Let go of most of the divine energy. Save for the bit you gave me. Not bloody parting with that.”

“Won’t that be like falling again?”

“Eh, most likely. So I’ll be falling again, and you’ll be. You’ll be.”

“Gravely injured, yes, dear boy. I am quite cognisant of what I’ll be.”

“Gonna be a rough few days, angel.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Angel?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Before we go back … can I kiss you? I want one kiss that we both remember.”

Aziraphale moved then to lie over Crowley’s chest, looking down at him with all the tenderness in the world as he stroked his cheek.

“No, Crowley. When we share our first kiss that we both remember, I want it to be with you as you’ve been since first I saw you. My demon.”

“Angel.” Crowley closed his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the tears sliding down his face. “If this doesn’t work ...”

“Better make sure it does then.” His fingers played slowly over Crowley’s lower lip with a smile of anticipation. “I shall want that kiss as soon as those blasted angels are out of our hair.” 

Crowley stood up and carefully lifted Aziraphale to his feet, holding the angel tight against him. He pressed gentle kisses to his lover’s fingertips as he wrapped his wings around both of them and stepped with Aziraphale over the edge of the night.


	8. Into The Blue Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley puts his audacious plan to erase the archangels' memories into action - but the only way to keep them both safe is a painful path to take.
> 
> _Crowley tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled sound. It would be easier, he admitted grudgingly. Having Aziraphale’s gentle touch extract his grace sounded more appealing than gritting his teeth and forcing himself to let go of it. The angel’s promise to keep it safe – to keep some part of Crowley safe – held special appeal. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/) for the amazing beta work!

**The Space Between What Is and What Was**

* * *

“Let me take it.”

Aziraphale grabbed his arm, halting their trajectory back to earth and keeping them sealed inside the starlit barrier around them. Crowley stared at him.

“Pardon?”

“If relinquishing your divinity is truly the only way, at least let me be the one to take your grace from you. Let me keep it safe with mine.”

Crowley tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled sound. It would be easier, he admitted grudgingly. Having Aziraphale’s gentle touch extract his grace sounded more appealing than gritting his teeth and forcing himself to let go of it. The angel’s promise to keep it safe – to keep some part of Crowley safe – held special appeal. 

On the other hand, in doing so the angel would cause Crowley to fall a second time. How could he ask him to carry that burden? No. It wasn't an option.

Aziraphale was quiet, watching his face carefully. Eventually he took both Crowley’s hands in his and squeezed them reassuringly.

“Crowley, I would rather hold you and help you, than watch you struggle and suffer alone. Haven’t we done enough suffering by ourselves? Surely it’s better to go through this together, if it must be done?

Crowley tried to protest, but he was tired. So tired, and so afraid. And if there was one thing that could guide Crowley’s wrecked heart to shore, it was Aziraphale. He trusted him.

“Alright.”

His response was so quiet, he wasn’t sure Aziraphale had heard him. But then the angel gathered him into his arms, as if he could soothe away the pain that was coming, and before either of them could back down, he used his divine energy to reach into Crowley. 

Crowley bit his lip against a groan of pain as Aziraphale started tugging the divinity from him. It took every ounce of control he could scrape together to let another take his grace and not fight back. Crowley buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder, arms wrapped around the angel but nails digging into his own palms, struggling to hide how much it hurt. He’d been created as an angel – every cell in his body was screaming at him to hold on at any cost. But he couldn’t, would never, lash out at _his_ angel. And so he stayed rigid, practically vibrating with the effort not to struggle as Aziraphale pulled almost every last ounce of grace from him. Almost. He knew better than to take the parts of his own divinity that he’d given Crowley.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale whispered, his voice cracking. 

Crowley could feel his skin starting to burn. There was no pool of boiling sulphur this time, but the agony of falling from grace was too big to be contained inside him and could only find expression by burning him from the inside out. His whole body shuddered as he tried to stifle a scream against Aziraphale’s shoulder, in too much pain to even care about whether it was undignified to sob against him, unclenching his hands so he could grab hold of Aziraphale and cling tight. 

Aziraphale was holding him firm and steady, telling him just a few more seconds, just hold on for me, I’ve got you. And Crowley did. He held on to his angel like an anchor in a storm-tossed sea, focusing every thought on Aziraphale to stave off the rage and bitterness.

“It’s done.”

Aziraphale let go as if he wasn’t sure whether it was ok to touch Crowley now. Or maybe he didn’t want to touch him, Crowley thought wretchedly.

“Can I … is there anything I can … how do I help you?”

Crowley shook his head, not quite trusting himself to speak yet. He glanced down at his arms, where raw red skin had replaced the delicate star charts. His insides had been restored to their usual screaming darkness.

“Angel,” he finally rasped out. “We’ve gotta go. Get this done.”

Aziraphale nodded, trying to look stoic through the tears streaming down his face. Crowley tightened his grip on the angel’s hand.

“What is it, angel?”

“Nothing.”

Aziraphale waved the question away with the self-deprecating tone Crowley had come to know so well. Crowley caught his hand and brought it to his lips.

“No. After everything that’s happened in this disgusting mess of a day, I won’t have you worrying and me not knowing why. What is it?”

Aziraphale looked as if he would speak. Then he shook his head, cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, and leaned up to press his mouth against the newly fallen demon’s. Crowley gasped, folding the angel in his arms and holding him against his chest as they kissed slowly, there among the stars.

“I did say I wanted to kiss you when you were my demon again,” Aziraphale said softly, almost apologetically, against him. Crowley smiled, pushing his fingers into the angel’s hair and teasing his tongue against his lips, sighing when Aziraphale parted them so Crowley could kiss him more deeply.

“What better place for our first kiss? Well, the first one we’ll both remember, anyway?” Crowly murmured in reply, pausing between words to explore the perfect bow of the angel’s upper lip, press longing kisses against the corner of his mouth, playfully suck and worry at his lower lip until he felt the angel tremble.

“But you just ...it seemed inappropriate of me to want to kiss you so while you're in such pain ...”

Crowley pressed closer then, holding Aziraphale tightly and kissing him as if doing so was the only thing that mattered.

“Yes, I just … and it wasn’t exactly a fun time … and this is the only thing that makes it worth it, holding you.”

Aziraphale wrapped both arms around his waist then, holding him carefully, so mindful of his raw skin, and looking up at him like he was the most beautiful sight in all the heavens around them. Crowley smiled in spite of everything. This was it. This angel, this fussy, emotional, kind angel, was the reason he was doing all of this. And he couldn’t let him down. Probably as well he was a demon again, he told himself. He had a perfect use for all that infernal anger that was rushing back in now that Aziraphale was no longer kissing him. With one last look in his angel’s eyes, he propelled them back to the moment Aziraphale died.

Despite the fact that possession is a well-known part of a demon’s job, according to the humans at least, Crowley had never possessed another person. He hadn’t intended to start at all, much less with his own past self. He could feel the edges of his current physical and metaphysical forms straining from the effort to stop time long enough to merge them with their past corporations and divest the archangels of their memories.

Aziraphale had the easier job, in some ways. His past self was injured, confused, and rapidly edging towards unconsciousness, and so the angel was able to melt easily back into his past corporation like the memory of snow. 

Crowley watched to make sure it had worked before forcing his own metaphysical essence back into a past-Crowley, who was murderously angry and on high alert. It was like trying to push fire with his hands, hot and painful and impossible. But Aziraphale’s life depended on it, and so he surged forward, desperately yelling at his past consciousness that this was for the angel, bless it all, so could he just cooperate already. And, as Crowley had hoped, the mere mention that Aziraphale needed this Crowley to unquestioningly merge with his burned and panicked future self, was enough. Crowley shuddered into his past self like a tectonic plate creating a new fault, and immediately sprang into action.

The urge to rend each archangel limb from limb and send the remains back to Her in a neatly wrapped package was near irresistible. The searing anger of falling had doubled inside him, and it was all Crowley could do not to unleash his pain on the archangels like a screaming storm. But everything hinged on Heaven suspecting nothing.

Crowley drew all his strength tight like a bow, releasing sure arrows of thought that hit each target perfectly. His suggestions sank into their minds like water into sand, erasing their discovery of his and Aziraphale’s congress, and implanting the idea that they would go back to Heaven now, having found nothing of interest on earth. Crowley growled, struggling against the urge to barb his thoughts, hurt them any way he could. But then it was over, and they were gone. Cloaking the room in a quick miracle, Crowley sank to his knees, catching Aziraphale as he fell.

“We must find a less painful way to survive next time, dear boy.”

Aziraphale tried to inject a little humour into his voice, but his speech was slurred, and his eyes were glazed. Crowley reached out, his fingertips hovering millimeters from Aziraphale’s skin as he used the last of his strength to heal his temporal bone fracture. 

Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, you don’t have the strength to ...” and then the darkness ambushed the demon, and the room suddenly felt very, very far away.

When Crowley opened his eyes again, everything seemed dim and fuzzy. Oh, for Satan's sake, what had he done? It would be a right bloody irony to pull off such a risky scheme, only to leave himself half blind.

“Ah, there you are. Welcome back, dear.”

Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak but no longer broken. Crowley struggled to focus on the angel, but found he couldn’t quite do it. He couldn’t feel his limbs. Groaning, he tried to move, wondering why his voice sounded both metallic and sibilant as he tried to ask the angel how he felt, and managed a nonsensical tangle of long-dead languages and not much else. He raised his head groggily, and the source of his numb limbs became apparent: He hadn’t any, because he was a serpent. A twenty-or-so foot long serpent, coiled on a low bed in a room above a London tavern, with an injured angel beside him.

“Shhhh. Lie back down.”

Crowley felt the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand on him, the heat seeping into his scales. Aziraphale had only seen him like this once, in Eden. Aziraphale had never touched him like this. Under other circumstances his brain would have been screaming questions. But right now he had only one.

“Angel, are you still hurt? Let me ….”

Gentle fingers played over his long curves, then stroked softly between his eyes.

“I’m in no danger, Crowley, my love.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well … my wings have seen better days …. no, Crowley, don’t do that.” His hand was on Crowley’s head, gently but firmly easing him back down to rest against the pillow. “You’re hardly in a fit state to heal anyone, darling.”

Crowley hissed softly and flicked his tongue against the angel’s palm. He could taste the frisson of joy and warmth that suffused Aziraphale at the sensation, and it made him giddy. He felt completely seen, and accepted. In a very short space of time, Aziraphale had made love with him, seen him as an angel, held him through a second fall, and was now showering as much love and affection on him in this form as in any other. Crowley was grateful snakes couldn’t cry. He’d cried on the angel enough, Someone knew, and he wanted to focus on helping him now.

“Darling.”

Aziraphale’s voice had the merest echo of holy command, and relief flooded Crowley at the sound.

“I am still injured, yes. But you were exhausted enough to lose your grip on your human-shaped corporation. As far as our respective head offices are concerned, we are carrying on our jobs as usual. We’ll be safe here for several days yet, I believe. Rest for a few hours more, at least.”

“But we have to -”

“Work out how to remain safe, yes, dearest, I know. Right now, however, we both need to recuperate. We cannot do much for each other thus weakened. So let us take a few moments. Let me hold you.”

“You want to hold me...when I’m like this?”

The words slipped out before Crowley could stop himself saying them, sneaky little tyrants.

“Good lord, Crowley, one would think I wasn’t there in Eden. Yes, I want to hold you, in any of your forms. Now do be quiet and let us both get some sleep. I am here, darling. You did it. You can sleep now.”

Crowley shifted his coils closer to Aziraphale, and then, at the angel’s encouraging touch, he wound himself around the angel’s thigh and across his stomach and chest, tucking his head comfortably in the nook of his shoulder and tasting the unique scent of intoxicating flowers and sharp lightning.   
The future was coming, whether Crowley wanted it to or not, but for that moment there was nothing but millennia of love and two souls in perfect union.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are ♥ - I love hearing what resonates!
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://azfell-and-his-demon.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	9. Before The Waking Of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe for the moment, Aziraphale and Crowley do their best to help each other heal.
> 
> _“Crowley … isn’t there anything I can do? Can I … I still have your grace, isn’t there a way I can use a little of it, or my own even? Not enough that anyone would know. Just enough to stop it hurting.”_
> 
> _“Angel.” Crowley shifted so he could nudge Aziraphale’s shoulder reassuringly. “I love you for asking, but I don’t think it would be safe. It’s dangerous enough that I’m keeping part of your energy, and you my grace – we can’t add any more risk factors.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note** that although there's no actual sex in this chapter, it IS very sensual and Aziraphale is very clearly attracted to snake!form Crowley. If that's not your jam, skip this one.
> 
> Thank you as always to [Mira Woros](www.archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for the amazing beta work!

**Elizabethan England, Two Days Later**

* * *

“Does it hurt?”

“Hmpf?” Crowley was freshly awake and feeling fuzzy around the edges, as if someone had sandpapered his diffuse metaphysical form and left him ragged.

“Being a demon again. Does it hurt?”

The concern in Aziraphale’s voice softened the abrupt question. Crowley raised his head to look at him. His vision wasn’t as sharp in his serpent shape, but he could still see the light and softness of the angel.  
  
“Yeah.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, petting the side of Crowley’s jaw.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Ngk. Had to be done. Besides, ‘m used to it.”

“Crowley … isn’t there anything I can do? Can I … I still have your grace, isn’t there a way I can use a little of it, or my own even? Not enough that anyone would know. Just enough to stop it hurting.”

“Angel.” Crowley shifted so he could nudge Aziraphale’s shoulder reassuringly. “I love you for asking, but I don’t think it would be safe. It’s risky enough that I’m keeping part of your energy, and you my grace – we can’t add any more risk factors.”

Aziraphale was silent for several long minutes.

“I suppose I will capitulate for now, as I find myself still rather muzzy-headed. But rest assured, dear boy, one day I will find a way to ease the pain for you, and that is simply a fact. Can I at least do something to make you more comfortable? What do you need?”

_You_. Crowley thought. _To carve you into my heart and hold you there for all eternity_. What he said was, “Suppose it would do me good to sleep for a few more hours, if you can hold out till then?”

“Hold out?”

“Your wings, angel. Gonna help you heal them.”

“My wings can wait a few more hours, dear. Is there anything … while you sleep? You seem comfortable curled against me – do you want to stay like that? Only I don’t know what’s comfortable for you in this form. Do you need more blankets?”

“Body heat is good.”

Crowley said honestly. Smiling, Aziraphale made a quick gesture and his clothes were gone. Crowley felt impossibly flushed, despite not being able to blush in his current corporation. Aziraphale sensed it, and tutted fondly.

“Really, my dear. Considering the last time we were in this bed together, now is not the time to be shy.”

“I don’t remember that, though,” Crowley teased, a hint of laughter colouring his voice, then let himself snuggle closer against Aziraphale, basking a little in the soft warmth of his body. He tasted the angel’s smile on the air as Aziraphale gathered Crowley close, holding him as if he mattered more than anything. 

The last thing Crowley knew as he fell back into unconsciousness was the sound of Aziraphale’s voice as he talked quietly to him of Eden, and their first meeting. As Crowley listened, he thought of their true first meeting, after the fall, and wondered if he’d ever be able to tell Aziraphale the truth.

* * *

Crowley slept for three more days, draped over and around Aziraphale, snout pressed into the side of the angel’s neck. Aziraphale held him carefully, stroking his scales whenever the demon seemed troubled, puffing out sighs and wriggling as if trying to escape some pain. Aziraphale re-warded the room as often as he had strength to, forsaking healing his wings in favour of using his energy to protect them both. He hadn’t the strength to send his wings back to the metaphysical plane, so he simply avoided looking at the ragged hole in each of them. Instead, he focused his attention on the sleeping demon in his arms. 

“I love you so, dearest,” he whispered against the top of Crowley’s head, cradling the looping coils against him as best he could. He shifted position whenever it seemed like Crowley might be more comfortable if he did. 

His fingers traced his beloved’s scales as he pondered the future, a pit of fear opening in his stomach every time he did so. They were safe for now, but the consequences of his love for Crowley were inescapable. Would it be safer for them both, if Aziraphale simply got up and left now? Wrote a letter? But he couldn’t be that cowardly. If he was going to leave, he was at least going to tell Crowley in person. 

When a change in position sent a particularly sharp twinge through his injured wing, he muffled a groan against Crowley, tears starting in his eyes as he remembered the things Crowley had witnessed. The demon knew now how Gabriel had treated Aziraphale for so long. Would he think him pathetic for it? A weakling, unable to do anything but be an archangel’s sick plaything?

Better not to think about it. Right now, Crowley needed him and that was all that mattered. Closing his eyes tight, Aziraphale wrapped his arms more firmly around the serpent of Eden, and made a concerted effort to put all thoughts of the future out of his mind, just for an hour or two more.

He must have drifted off a little. He woke to the feel of Crowley nudging the side of his face and whispering “Aziraphale,” the z sounding sibilant and ancient. The angel opened his eyes groggily and smiled when he saw the familiar yellow gaze looking into his.

“Everything alright, darling?” he asked, cupping Crowley’s face in his hand. “It’s not the eighteenth century already, is it?”

Crowley shook his head, a slow weave that convinced Aziraphale even all the archangels in Heaven would have difficulty going up against this particular demon, if he chose to unleash his powers on them.

“Missed you,” he admitted, with naked longing that brought tears to Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Too quiet without you.”

He flicked his tongue against Aziraphale’s ear. 

“That tickles, you wily old serpent,” the angel said, huffing out a laugh.

He could have sworn Crowley smiled at him, somehow, then he rested his forehead against the angel’s so they were looking into each other’s eyes. Crowley shifted, squeezing his coils just lightly against Aziraphale in a loving hug.

“I don’t know what to do, angel. I … you know. Might be safer to just stay away from each other.”

“Might be.”

Aziraphale tried to sound calm. Crowley hissed so deeply that his body seemed to vibrate with it.

“Easssssier said than done.”

“Indeed.”

There seemed to be nothing else to say. And so, Aziraphale pressed closer against Crowley and closed his eyes again, stroking the demon’s sinuous coils as he held Aziraphale protectively within them.

* * *

Crowley watched Aziraphale drifting off to sleep. The sight made his heart feel too heavy, as if the blood would spill out of it all over the sheets. The angel disliked sleep for the most part – sometime around the start of the eleventh century he’d found Crowley dozing and woken him with an exasperated, “for shame, dear fellow, immortal beings don’t need sleep!” That he was so close to sleep now told Crowley all he needed to know about how weakened he was. He could sense the angelic wards around the room and knew Aziraphale had been using his energy to keep them safe.

The angel stirred slightly, eyes half-opening. When he started to mumble an apology, Crowley leaned close enough to gently nudge his face with his snout.

“Ssssleep,” he murmured in his ear, coiling a little tighter around him. “My turn to keep watch.”

The ghost of a smile passed across Aziraphale’s face.

“Then I shall sleep soundly,” he said, with such sincerity that Crowley had to bury his face in the pillow for a moment to compose himself. 

Such trust. Utterly lost in his love for the angel, Crowley couldn’t keep from rubbing the side of his face against Aziraphale’s cheek, murmuring nonsense words of affection. The angel turned to feather kisses over Crowley’s jaw, fingers tracing the ridges of his scales as if he loved them.

“Your wings,” Crowley said suddenly, and Aziraphale ceased his caresses, nodding slowly. 

“Yes, ah, there is still the matter of those.”

“Let me try and heal them before you sleep? I can use your energy a little.”

“You need to rest,” Aziraphale chided gently. “Now, perhaps if I just try bathing them, heal them the human way ...”

He made to get up, and Crowley instinctively shifted position so his weight pinned the angel to the bed. To his surprise, Aziraphale laughed.

“Thousands of years, and now you pin me down? This form makes you bolder.”

The teasing look he gave Crowley made the demon nearly discorporate on the spot. For a white hot moment the thought flashed into his mind that Aziraphale truly saw no difference between his corporations. The idea that the angel could still see him as … as what? As his partner? His lover? In this form was tantalising in a strange, spread-open way that Crowley both feared and longed for.

“Angel.” Crowley raised his head, lower coils still holding Aziraphale down. “Please. Please let me try and help.”

There was a long silence. Crowley desperately hoped Aziraphale could sense how much he needed this, how much he needed to be the one that made his pain go away.

“You want to stop my pain as much as I want to stop yours,” Aziraphale commented, his voice softer than rain. “One day, Crowley … one day we’ll be together without pain. I have to believe that.”

Crowley ducked his head then, nuzzling into the angel’s shoulder, trembling slightly.

“Jusssssst let me.”

He muttered, gesturing at the angel’s wings with his tail.

“Very well, but please be careful. Don’t over exert yourself.”

Crowley made to slither off the angel, but Aziraphale stopped him, whispering, “stay close.” Crowley let his tongue flicker against the angel’s palm, to show that he understood. Then he curled over Aziraphale’s chest, with his head resting against his heart, and started healing the tears in his wings. 

It was slow going. Touching the injured area would make it easier, but Crowley lacked the necessary hands to do so, and to switch form would use up all the energy he needed for healing. With a frustrated sigh, he wriggled into a different position. Bless it all. They’d been through enough already that the angel would probably understand.

Probably.

Wing touching was heart-stoppingly intimate at the best of times. Using one’s tongue was just not the done thing, he assumed. Perhaps especially in this most demonic of corporations. He wasn’t sure how to even bring it up.

But it would speed the healing process, and his fraught desire to do that beat his doubts hollow. And so, he bent his head to the angel's wing, and gently flicked his tongue against the injured part, then paused, silently asking permission now it was clear what he intended to do. Aziraphale placed a reassuring hand on his head, and Crowley continued. 

The measured, focused contact was much more efficient than simply using his mind to heal, but the intimacy of it made Crowley tremble. He’d rarely ever seen Aziraphale’s wings; the memory of touching them after the Ark was still burned into his mind like a pattern of light after glancing at the sun. 

Unthinking, he let his body relax so the feathers were brushing his scales, letting himself feel those beautiful wings on as much of himself as possible. He could sense the love and patience radiating from the angel in waves as he caressed Crowley’s long spine and encouraged him to move against his wings as he healed them.

“That feels wonderful.”

The angel admitted, and Crowley redoubled his efforts, until the injured part of the wing slowly knit back together, the feathers straightening out and becoming soft and plush once more. Relieved, he turned his attention to the other wing and followed the same process, using his tongue to press healing energy against it, lapping gently. He heard Aziraphale sigh with relief, and something in him relaxed at last, as if he’d been holding on to the angel’s pain and could only now let it go.

When he’d finished, he shifted position so he could look down at Aziraphale, his midsection and lower body curled lazily across the angel’s chest and stomach, his tail tucked casually around a thigh. It was so unexpectedly easy to hold him and settle into being close with him in this form. Aziraphale clearly saw no difference between the Crowley he’d held in his arms just a few short nights ago, and this one. The thought was dazzling. Crowley tucked it carefully away where he could take it out and look at it whenever he needed a reminder of how lucky he was.

Aziraphale smiled and raised his wings to wrap them around Crowley, long white feathers gently soothing and petting his spine and scales.

“There. We’re both ok.”

“I can’t let you go,” Crowley responded, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him not to. “I know I should.”

“I can’t let you go either, Crowley.”

Crowley instinctively tightened his hold a little, not enough to feel like a threat, but just enough to make his angel feel held and safe. When Aziraphale cupped his face in both warm hands and leaned up to press an adoring kiss to his mouth, Crowley stared at him for a long moment before instinctively pulling back.

“I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale looked panicked, and Crowley could taste his stress. “Was that not alright?”

“It wasn’t … it wasn’t not alright.” Crowley hesitated. Finding words in this form wasn’t usually different to in his human-shaped form, but when his emotions kicked up, words did have a tendency to descend into hisses. “Only. I am a snake, jussst now.”

Aziraphale gave the slightest shake of his head. “Ah. I didn’t realise I was only allowed to be affectionate with you in your human form, you see. One might almost think I’m so glad we’re both still alive that I care about nothing else.” 

It was warm, and teasing, and when he leaned forward to kiss Crowley again, the demon let himself sink into it. It was a little awkward – their corporations were so different – but the feel of Aziraphale’s warmth beneath his scales and the way he sighed softly when Crowley shifted against his skin, more than made up for it.

“Love how entwined we can be like this.” Aziraphale muttered sleepily, closing his eyes, both hands slowly drifting against Crowley’s head and body. “Could stay wrapped up in you forever.” Crowley tasted contentment and deep pleasure, more intoxicating than the richest wine.

“Then ssssleep a while.”

Aziraphale sighed and accepted the suggestion, closing his eyes as Crowley wrapped as much of himself around the angel as possible, doing all he could to keep him feeling safe.

Crowley didn’t let his gaze leave the angel for the next few hours, as he slept peacefully surrounded by Crowley’s long body.

When he awoke, he kissed Crowley’s face softly in greeting.

“Did something happen?" the angel asked, and Crowley wondered how Aziraphale had managed to see the worry on his face, when he was so much less expressive in this form. 

“What? Oh, no, angel. Jusssst.” He took a breath, tried to control the hiss. “Just frustrated with it all. Good, bad, the great plan, angels and demons, all of it. Wish I could just take you somewhere they could never find us and stay there.”

“As do I, dear boy. But I suppose we must start planning our next move.”

“Hm.” Crowley nuzzled against the angel thoughtfully. “You said something, in the stars, about our energies making a guarded space – neither of heaven nor hell, but protected from both? Something like that. If we could recreate that ...”

Aziraphale smiled brightly.

“Oh, my smart boy! I see no reason at all that I couldn’t incorporate your energy into my wards. May I try? Except that it … you might ...”

“Have to stay a serpent for a few days more, so I can use my energy to shield us? Not a problem. Would rather be safe and stay here a bit longer, than rush but put us in more danger. Do it, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded, biting his lip, then carefully teased a little of Crowley’s energy out and laced it through the wards like weaving black beads onto white silk. 

“There, all done. Now, dear, tell me, is there anything I can do to help your healing along?”

“Could use some extra energy, I suppose. We could tempt some member of the tavern staff into bringing us food. Pay them well, of course, then make them forget bringing sustenance to an angel and a giant snake.”

“As far as ideas go, not the worst you’ve had lately.” Aziraphale admitted. “But … there’s nothing else?”

“Nah, angel. Just tired and need to let my energy build back up.”

When the proprietor of the tavern furnished them with a rich feast of goose, mutton, parsnips and cabbage in a rich sauce, with oranges, marchpane, and even oysters on the side (Aziraphale couldn’t keep from laughing), he realised he was truly hungry. 

“Bet you’re glad I don’t eat rats in this form,” he teased, as Aziraphale carefully fed him pieces of meat, letting his tongue flicker out to lick the rich creamy sauce from the angel’s fingers. Aziraphale laughed, giving him a fond look.

“I’d have coped.”

He would, too, Crowley realised. When Aziraphale asked him if he could drink in this form, he thought he might vanish from sheer embarrassment. But he was thirsty, and so he admitted that he’d found his own way of sipping liquid from a shallow bowl that he could fit the end of his snout in. 

Calmly, as if it was perfectly normal, and with an exasperated huff at Crowley’s reluctance, Aziraphale poured beer from one of the pitchers into a shallow bowl that he managed to miracle up, and insisted on holding it for Crowley. When they were both sated, Aziraphale lay down again, drawing Crowley into his arms and comfortably shifting his limbs so Crowley could twine around him.

“I was thinking. This joining of our energies, angel. Could perhaps protect us in the future.”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale agreed, fingers gliding over the scales on Crowley’s head. “I most certainly cannot bear to let you go, dear boy, but now … now I have a little hope.”

Crowley wished he could smile. He settled for flicking his tongue gently against Aziraphale’s jaw, delighting in the way his angel shivered, seemingly unconcerned about his serpent form.

“I’ll keep you safe, Aziraphale. No matter what it takes.”

He almost dared to think that they might find a way after all. The sun streaming through the windows outside already seemed brighter and warmer as an angel and a serpent curled together in a mosaic of midnight scales and moonlight feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are ♥ - I love hearing what resonates!
> 
> I'm already working on the next chapter! Meantime, why not check out my other [fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/works)? 
> 
> If you're looking for a little more angst with a happy ending plus an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex, try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> Sweet, fluffy, multi POV Tadfield adventure with an ensemble cast? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987)
> 
> Some gentle book!Omens fluff to balance the angst of this one? I recommend [At Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193763)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://azfell-and-his-demon.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	10. About That Dream Of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale longs to be as close as possible to Crowley, no matter what form his love is currently in.
> 
> _“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this,” Crowley admitted, too drunk on the angel’s nearness to stop himself. _
> 
> _“Of us lying in bed in a tavern, with me still recovering from a flaming sword injury, and you in your snake form, still recovering from a second fall? That’s a very specific dream.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important content warning!**  
  
In this chapter, they have sex while Crowley is a snake. He does not switch back to his human-like form. If that's not comfortable for you, you can skip this one without losing the flow of the story - I purposely kept it plot-light for that reason.
> 
> Description level: Think the emotional angsty softlit porn of chapter 5. But with snake!Crowley.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for the amazing beta work, and for giving me the courage to post it!

**Elizabethan England**

* * *

He woke before Aziraphale, which gave him the chance to examine the angel’s wings. He sighed in relief to see they’d healed beautifully. When the angel stirred, Crowley’s tension eased a bit. Being alone with his thoughts wasn’t his idea of a good time on any day. But over the last day or so, they’d been mostly a vivid replay of the moment he’d held Aziraphale’s dead body. 

The angel’s presence was the only tourniquet for such thoughts, and Crowley missed his warmth and love every time he slept. Usually Crowley kept watch over him, and Aziraphale returned the favour. This time, they’d both drifted into sleep. The realisation that neither of them had been on guard made Crowley shiver. Aziraphale woke at the movement and reached a steadying hand to soothe him, petting gently down the scales behind his jaw.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

“Just realised no one was keeping watch,” Crowley muttered, nuzzling the angel’s hand. “How did you sleep? Shall we bother the proprietor for some breakfast?”

“I could eat,” Aziraphale admitted. “Saints, Crowley, were it not for the … well, injuries and discorporation … I could get used to lying in bed with you and having delicious food arrive.”

Crowley laughed softly. Who knew what the next few days would bring? But for this day, they were safe. He hadn’t the energy to change back to his human corporation today. Which meant for once, relaxing with the angel was quite literally all he had to do.

“What are you smiling at?” Aziraphale asked him an hour later, as he delicately fed Crowley pieces of wild boar, followed by Shrewsbury cakes flavoured with rose water.

“How can you tell I’m smiling? I could be glaring.”

“I can sense it. And I swear I can see it, somehow.” Aziraphale leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his face. Crowley sighed and leaned into it.

“Just enjoying being with you. Better just check the wards, angel, before I get too relaxed.”

“Ever watchful,” Aziraphale smiled gently. Crowley reached out to the wards. His lower coils tensed as if he were readying to strike when he found the ethereal walls slightly weaker than the previous night.

“It seems the effect of our combined energies, though potent, isn’t permanent.” Aziraphale told him, after examining the barriers too.

Crowley sighed and let his head flop down onto the pillow. Could nothing be easy? Why did everything about their relationship have an expiry date? How long they were allowed to keep memories, how long they were able to be together, how long they could know peace or safety ... everything apart from his love for the angel. Aziraphale lay down beside him and stroked his face.

“Darling, the wards have lasted for days, and by my estimation, will last at least another five. We’re so much closer to finding a way to stay safe than we’ve ever been. It’s just going to take a little work. Don’t lose hope. Exactly how long do you think it will be till you can change back to your human form?”

Crowley undertook his own metaphysical examination.

“Should be ok in about three days, I think, angel.”

It might be sooner, but Crowley didn’t want to give the angel false hope regarding how fast he was healing. Besides, a little overestimation didn’t hurt, if it might buy him extra time with his lover.

“Well, then.” Aziraphale nuzzled his face. “We certainly have protection enough to cover three days, and our head offices don’t have any reason to seek us out right now. We have a little extra time, Crowley, a gift.”

Aziraphale gathered him closer, his hands soothing against his scales as he encouraged him to loop a heavy coil of his lower body over the angel’s hips and waist. Crowley sank against his velvety soft skin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this,” Crowley admitted, too drunk on the angel’s nearness to stop himself. 

“Of us lying in bed in a tavern, with me still recovering from a flaming sword injury, and you in your snake form, still recovering from a second fall? That’s a very specific dream.”

Crowley butted the angel’s shoulder with his head.

“No, you old fool. Of having quiet, uninterrupted time with you.”

“Oh, that. Well, that’s not such a bad dream.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s face up to his and pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his mouth. This time, Crowley didn’t draw back, though he felt his lower body shift in a slightly embarrassed motion.

“Crowley, last night when you healed my wings ….”

“Yeah, about that, angel. ‘M sorry. Was the easiest way, you know …”

Aziraphale shushed him with the kind of tone usually reserved for people who didn’t enjoy Hamlet.

“I wasn’t asking for an apology, Crowley. I wanted to tell you how much it meant to me, that we could share something so intimate. Especially given that you don’t recall our night together.”

“You could tell me about it,” Crowley said, trying to hide the desperate hope that Aziraphale would. _Please_, he thought._ Please tell me how it was, tell me how we fit together, if you liked it, if you regret it …_

“I could...” Aziraphale began, and Crowley hoped he hadn’t made his angel too self conscious by asking for such an intimate account “... or we could just … try again.”

“We could,” he agreed tentatively. “If we ever manage to make ourselves a little safehouse like this in the future …. and if you wanted to … I ...”

Crowley didn’t need sharp eyesight to know Aziraphale’s look was a mix of love and utter exasperation.

“I meant now, you ridiculous demon.”

“…. now?” Crowley looked down at his serpentine corporation, then back at Aziraphale, utterly confused.

“Can you think of a better time, darling? We’re hidden, for now. We’re completely safe and unobserved. And we have the luxury of at least another three days here, together, like this.”

“But … are you? I mean … obviously you know what I am … but I … angel?”

Aziraphale trailed his fingers slowly over Crowley’s jaw.

“My wonderful, fierce demon. I’m so afraid of the future. I have hope, yes, but I’m frightened, too. I don’t know if we’ll ever have another moment like this. I don’t think I can bear to let it pass without knowing you again, if you … if you want to.”

Crowley started laughing then. He couldn’t help it. When Aziraphale looked affronted, he quickly made to explain, snuggling his coils gently against the angel.

“I’m sorry, angel, it’s just that I’ve wanted you desperately since before I truly understood what desire even was. Of course I want to be with you and actually _remember_ it. But … like this? How could … how could that possibly be good for you?”

By way of answer, Aziraphale pulled him closer.

“Let’s find out.”

Very good, it turned out, if the angel’s delighted gasps at the flicker of Crowley’s tongue against his neck and collar were any indication. Crowley felt his self consciousness easing as they wrapped around each other, his long coils holding Aziraphale close to him and rippling gently against the angel. They were together. Aziraphale was with him and nothing else mattered. 

When Aziraphale tightened his thighs against him, hips rocking against Crowley’s nether-scales and finding obvious pleasure in it , Crowley thought he must have wandered into a strange and beautiful dream. Emboldened, he risked leaning down to flick his tongue against the angel’s nipples, and was rewarded with a high, breathy moan. Then strong, sure hands slid down his body towards the base of his tail, and Crowley froze.

“Oh, darling, too much? We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” Aziraphale reassured him. “We can just hold each other.”

Crowley wanted to do so much more than hold him, but even with Aziraphale so clearly inviting more, he couldn’t let himself trust it. He was about to snuggle down against the angel’s chest and agree to holding each other. He was about to save himself the agony of asking the question that burned his tongue like a brand. 

But they were so close and everything he ever wanted was right there, all openness and kindness, and longing that Crowley could taste, so he knew it was real. He could barely make himself form the words, but not asking hurt even more. When he spoke, his voice was so low that it was just as well Aziraphale had preternatural senses.

“What do you want from me, angel?”

Aziraphale exhaled shakily, fingers tracing cloud-swirl patterns down Crowley’s back.

“Crowley, isn’t it patently obvious? I want to make love with you. Now, while we’re safe and can focus solely on one another.”

“I want that, too.” His voice was steadier, for having heard the angel voice his desires. “Have you ever …?”

“Only once. With you, dearest.”

He caught the scent of Aziraphale’s warmth and amusement on the air, though it was tinged with regret for taking the memory from Crowley.

“Oh … of course.” Crowley laughed a little, trying to ignore his own answering sadness. Aziraphale stroked the side of his face, changing position so he could press slow, loving kisses under Crowley’s jaw. Suddenly Crowley wanted, no, _needed,_ to know exactly how his deepest desires had come true.

“Did I … was I … careful enough, with you, angel?”

“Darling, you hardly had to be! I was rather impatient to get you inside me,” the angel admitted. Crowley couldn’t answer. The thought that Aziraphale had wanted him so, had even hurried, made his head spin.

“It was wonderful, my love.” Aziraphale continued, as if he could hear the litany of questions flooding Crowley’s mind. “You were so beautiful, even moreso than I’d imagined. And the feel of your infernal energy twining with my own was exquisite.”

They’d been that intimate. He’d invited Crowley into not only his body, but his very core. The thought of Aziraphale beneath him, wanting him so much, caused the last of his reason to spool out, leaving only the craving to discover all the things he’d been made to forget. He tightened his lower coils around and between the angel’s thighs, writhing against him slightly, tongue worshipping the broad plane of his chest and the soft curve of his belly. Crowley quickly learned the tongue movements that caused Aziraphale to grasp at him, fingers sliding over his scales as he groaned his name and rocked against him.

This time, he didn’t hesitate when Aziraphale’s questing fingers gently found their target, tentatively exploring both lengths as if slightly afraid of hurting him. The angel kissed his face over and over as his fingers worked, wings wrapped tight around him, feathers rubbing slowly against his sides in a way that was both soothing and encouraging. 

“Are you … are you ….” Crowley needed the reassurance but the rest of the words wouldn’t come out.

“I’ve never been more certain,” Aziraphale told him, his voice steady and reassuring as he cupped the curves of Crowley’s body, near his tail, and guided the demon closer until he was pressed as near as it was possible to be without them being joined. Crowley’s breath stuttered into ragged gasps, shivers running down his body like water down rock.

Crowley pressed his face into the pillow, his whole body trembling, overcome with nervousness and still unable to let himself completely believe the evidence of Aziraphale’s desire for him. That Aziraphale could want him in this corporation was mind bending. They were both still for several long moments. He could feel the angel breathing deeply, still holding the demon with that sure, comforting touch. Then Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face in his hand and moved him so they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Aziraphale told him. “When I died, Crowley, my last thought was of you. Please let me see you when we … please don’t hide from me now.”

Stunned, he could only breathe deeply and taste the love and acceptance all around him. It reminded him of a green meadow full of flowers on a rainy spring day.

“I’ve never …. “ he took a shaky breath in, tried again, suddenly needing to tell Aziraphale the truth. “I mean, except that night with you, but I don’t remember that. And certainly never like this.”

Aziraphale breathed low against his scales, and his hand reached to caress him again. “I fathomed that already, dear boy. I’m quite certain we can figure it out.”

The fingers stroking over him turned slick and dripping. Crowley took a shuddering breath in, feeling his heart beat so fast he was quite certain his corporation was about to develop a cardiac condition.

“I’m yours.” Aziraphale leaned up and kissed his face over and over, one leg hooking over Crowley’s muscular body so the demon’s scales were sliding against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. “Crowley, if you want me, I’m yours.”

Crowley could feel his whole body vibrating with mingled fear and anticipation as he let his long spine ripple in a way that edged him forward, the motion pressing him just slightly into the angel. Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley tasted the sort of joy he’d always dreamed of giving the angel by joining with him.

Crowley had been so very sure Aziraphale would keep his eyes closed, that he would want to focus on the sensations and forget what Crowley looked like. Yet his adoring gaze didn’t leave Crowley’s face for a moment, save when he bent and started kissing under his jaw and over his red underside as if he couldn’t bear to keep his mouth away a moment longer.

“Sorry ‘bout the awkward angle.” Crowley muttered, but he felt easy and warm, not embarrassed, as he gently butted his head against the angel’s chest.

“Well, at least we’re not all wheels and flames. Think how difficult that would be to co-ordinate.” Aziraphale reached one hand down to press gently but firmly against Crowley’s back, helping him shift into a position that let them fit together more comfortably. 

Crowley wrapped his tail around the angel’s leg to make it easier to stay pressed against him. Aziraphale gasped when the movement pushed his thigh back, arching slightly and moaning Crowley’s name. Pleasure shot through Crowley like a sudden ray of sun on a cold day and he felt his body thrum as he hissed deeply. He paused, body still walking the fine line between control and surrender, unsure whether the sound was too inhuman. Aziraphale pressed frantic kisses to his face, murmuring against him, “yes, dearest, let me hear you.”

Crowley was lost. He was wrapped around and over Aziraphale, yet it felt like Aziraphale was twined around every inch of his long body. Soft feathers brushed against his scales as Aziraphale held him, as they rocked together, as he slid his thighs against Crowley and pulled him even deeper. His lips were pressing holy fire kisses like blessings everywhere he could reach, leaving Crowley warm and pliant and unable to do anything but bask in it. Strong hands held him and helped him move just so, fingers exploring the shape of him. And oh the words that spilled from Aziraphale’s lips. Telling Crowley that he was beautiful, that he’d dreamed of him, that he felt so good it was difficult to bear.

When their energies met, it was with the ease of a blossom opening on a tree. Crowley felt his infernal essence slide gently into and around Aziraphale’s divinity until they were inseparable. He could feel their ancient energies pulsing and pressing together even as their bodies twined and rocked. It was like flying through a galaxy more beautiful than any he’d ever designed. He was home. Every cell in his body recognized his angel as home.

Aziraphale groaned, rocking faster and clenching against him in waves until Crowley couldn’t do anything but hiss his pleasure, gathering Aziraphale close in his coils and moving with him. Crowley pressed his face desperately to the angel’s shoulder, shocked to feel his own face wet with tears. 

“That … shouldn’t be possible.” he muttered as he writhed against the angel. 

Aziraphale leaned up, panting, to kiss the tears from his face. “I should think the last few days have proven you can do any number of impossible things, my miracle.”

As the meeting of bright moonlight and aurulent fire lit Crowley from the inside, leaving him panting and shaking against Aziraphale, he suddenly knew, with everything he was, that Aziraphale was his fate, his purpose, and his end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are ♥ - I love hearing what resonates!
> 
> I'm already working on the next chapter! Meantime, why not check out my other fics?
> 
> If you're looking for a little more angst with a happy ending plus an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex, try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145)
> 
> Sweet, fluffy post-canon multi POV Tadfield adventure with an ensemble cast? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987)
> 
> Some gentle book!Omens fluff to balance the angst of this one? I recommend [At Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193763)
> 
> Or how about some sweet Valentine's angst with an emotional outdoor first time to sweeten the pain? Try [Incandescent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705738)
> 
> Come say hi on[ Tumblr](http://azfell-and-his-demon.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	11. Heavenward, Deep Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel has already lost one person to sin and blasphemy. He won't lose another, even if that means taking a firm, and cruel, stand.
> 
> _Jolted out of his memories, Gabriel scowled at Sandalphon. He normally got on perfectly well with the unrefined angel. He wasn’t the brightest, but he could be relied on to get a job done when it needed doing, and without too much pesky compassion to get in the way._
> 
> _“The demon Crowley?” Sandalphon said in the tone of one who’s already had to repeat himself several times. “He’s been seen with Aziraphale more than I reckon is necessary. Want me to do something about it?”_
> 
> _“Not now.” Gabriel waved the other archangel away with an irritated wave of his hand. “I’ll deal with Crowley later.”_
> 
> _He would deal with Aziraphale now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning!**
> 
> Gabriel is cruel and unhinged and honestly somewhat perverted in this chapter. Beware that, and strongly implied and referenced torture.
> 
> Thanks go as always to the amazing [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for outstanding beta work, and encouraging me to be brave and write Gabriel as truly villainous!

_ Earth Creation Department, Heaven, Before The World _

Gabriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. By Her name, his younger brother was reckless if he thought he’d get away with this. Yet there he was again. Sitting with Lucifer and his acolytes at the interdepartmental meeting, limbs a long sprawl in his seat, paying careful attention to whatever the Morning Star was muttering.

The Morning Star. _A stupid nickname for an arrogant angel who ought to know his place_, Gabriel thought with no small measure of irritation. Yes, very well, Azraniel’s job made him predisposed to love the stars, but this one was hardly a guiding light. Gabriel would need to have a strict word with his brother after the meeting. Right now all he could do was glower across the room at his wayward sibling, too annoyed to give much response to Michael’s greeting as the other angel took their place beside him.

He sought Azraniel out as soon as the meeting was over. His brother was poring over star charts, as he usually did when not otherwise occupied. 

“You will not sit with Lucifer again. Return to your duties and stay away from that prideful rabble-rouser.”

Azraniel looked up from his charts with that wry half-twist of a smile.

“Last I checked you weren’t the boss of me, Gabe.”

“I’m older. It’s my job to guide you on the path to righteous glory.” 

“Yeah, because time has so much meaning to angels.” Azraniel rolled his eyes. “None of your business who I talk to.”

Gabriel closed his eyes in frustration. All angels were Her children, of course, but some were created from the same strand of Her energy, like two filaments that were supposed to braid together. Whether they were created together or countless eons apart, those angels were siblings. Linked. Most of the time, he was glad Azraniel was his – he had a delightfully sharp brain, and being around him was never boring. Lately, though, his younger brother had been giving him a lot of trouble. 

“Don’t you ever question Her plans?”

Azraniel was studying him with that gaze, the one he’d worn since his very beginning. He'd always been full of questions and doubts, and no good could come of it.

“No. Why would I? Why would you?”

Azraniel shook his head, the star charts on his skin glowing in the ever-present light of Heaven.

“Don’t much fancy spending the rest of my immortal life blindly obeying Her will.”

“That’s our entire purpose. What could you possibly hope to gain by this?”

Azraniel stared at him for a long moment as if struggling to understand him.

“Freedom,” he said simply, getting up and strolling over to join an angel Gabriel hadn’t noticed before. He stood quickly and followed, grabbing Azraniel’s shoulder before he could reach the other angel. 

“This conversation is  _ not _ over. I expect you to start showing some respect.”

Azraniel gave him an infuriating grin.

“You’ll be waiting a long time then. Anyway, don’t be a soggy feather, brother. Come meet my friend. Aziraphale, this is Gabriel, who likes to remind me he’s my big brother. Gabriel, this is Aziraphale.”

“Hello.”

The other angel was a Cherub, that much Gabriel could sense. It had become the norm lately for angels to use their new person-shaped (that’s what She called them) forms, but it was still fairly easy to sense the underlying energy of each entity. 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Gabriel muttered, still intent on chastising his wayward sibling. 

But something about Aziraphale held his focus a moment longer. He was neither as tall nor as striking as many other angels, but there was something arresting about his pale hair and expressive blue eyes that kept Gabriel staring at him several moments longer than what could be considered polite. Something low in his stomach clenched tight and there was a sudden pressure in his chest. It was deeply uncomfortable, like a thorn sneaking between his essence and its connection to Her. He hated it... and yet wanted more of it in a way he didn’t understand.

Azraniel was looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

“You alright?”

“Hm? Yes, of course I am. I have duties. Stay out of trouble for Her sake, will you?”

Azraniel made a non-committal sound, and it was clear he was far more interested in Aziraphale than anything else. He offered the Cherub his arm and Aziraphale took it, smiling up at Azraniel in a way that made Gabriel feel hot and cold at the same time.

Gabriel stared after them as they walked away. Something twinged under his ribs that he didn’t recognise and most certainly didn’t like. It felt like anticipation but if the anticipation were for something terrible, mingled with the odd sensation that his brother had something he wanted, and he wanted to take it from him.

* * *

Gabriel doggedly shoved the peculiar experience out of his mind, letting work fill his daily life. There was certainly more than enough to be done. God was planning something big, although She had yet to reveal the full details. In preparation, She had angels creating things called planets. One in particular was green and blue and small, and so much denser than the energy of Heaven. Gabriel had been charged with helping design something called a garden that would be placed there. The technical aspect was fine. Being exacting was well within his skill set. But the creative part did not come so easily. 

He hated to ask for help, but the thought of disappointing Her was worse, so he wrestled his pride down enough to seek out Azraniel. His brother’s more abstract way of thinking, and his experience designing stars, would come in useful. Besides, if he was helping Gabriel, he wasn’t with Lucifer. 

“Ah, have you seen Azraniel?”

The star lab didn’t contain his star-making sibling. Instead, he found Aziraphale alone, seated at one of the tables and talking quietly to a tiny pair of stars, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. 

“Oh … hello. Gabriel, isn’t it? I’m afraid you just missed him. He muttered something about compositions and elements and headed off to one of those nebulae that he’s in charge of. Told me to take care of this … it’s a binary star, apparently, or will be one day. Quite lovely. He really is very talented. Anyway, I’m rambling. Is there anything I might help with?”

He was about to say no. That strange tightness in his stomach was back and it seemed prudent to be as far away from this angel as possible. But he was looking at Gabriel with open honesty and trust, and something strange inside Gabriel twisted and wanted to hold onto that look, to keep it. And so, he sat down beside Aziraphale and showed him the structure he had mapped out for the garden. 

Aziraphale, it turned out, had an eye for beauty, and his suggestions fleshed out the basic structure nicely. Enough that Gabriel felt confident returning to God with the new plans.

Gabriel was relieved to have solved the conundrum of the garden. But over the hours they’d spent working, he’d found his attention constantly drawn to the set of Aziraphale’s mouth, the warm gentleness in his voice, and the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating. Something cloying was sticking to the insides of his corporation. A feeling of wrongness. Disconcerted and suddenly angry with the other angel, he stood up, resisting the urge to crush the new pair of stars to pieces, and abruptly took his leave.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not that there was a manual on feelings – yet. But there were certainly more than enough rules in place guiding angels as to how to behave. Everything was so perfectly prescribed that it was hard to imagine anything that fell outside of the parameters could be acceptable. That’s how he knew his feelings were against the rules, even if that particular rule hadn’t been written yet. Of course it was against the rules. They were angels, after all.

Feeling a sense of … what would one call it? Craving? Towards another angel was almost certainly forbidden. They had been created to serve Her and that was all there was. He considered asking Azraniel about it, but his brother was falling deeper in with Lucifer, and quite resistant to listening to any sense, much less speaking it. Besides, going by the blasphemous things spilling from his mouth recently, Azraniel was as likely to tell him to embrace his feelings as a sign that he was learning to think for himself, or some such inappropriate nonsense. No, the most sensible thing was to keep his head down and focus on his career. Promotion was Her latest idea, and it wasn’t a bad one, not at all. It would be a distraction, at least.

* * *

_ Miracle Monitoring Department, Heaven, 1740 _

“Boss?”

“What now?”

Jolted out of his memories, Gabriel scowled at Sandalphon. He normally got on perfectly well with the unrefined angel. He wasn’t the brightest, but he could be relied on to get a job done when it needed doing, and without too much pesky compassion to get in the way.

“The demon Crowley?” Sandalphon said in the tone of one who’s already had to repeat himself several times. “He’s been seen with Aziraphale more than I reckon is necessary. Want me to do something about it?”

“Not now.” Gabriel waved the other archangel away with an irritated wave of his hand. “I’ll deal with Crowley later.”

He would deal with Aziraphale now. 

The first time he’d had to take the faltering angel in hand, after he’d sheltered Azran – Crowley – in Eden, had stung a little. No one wants to punish someone they’re trying to protect, after all. But Aziraphale had to be made to understand. You don’t fraternize with demons. You don’t so much as cast a sneering glance at the Other Side. If you do that, you fall. You burn in a pit of sulphur. Just  like a certain younger  brother  who tore Gabriel's soul into pieces, leaving nothing but an unbraided filament, a fragment that had once been whole.

It was for his own good, really. If he thought having his wings broken or his flesh cut hurt, it was nothing compared to what he’d suffer if he fell. Sometimes Gabriel did feel a sharp twinge in his gut, especially seeing the state of the Principality’s wings after, but he  clearly hadn't learned his lesson yet if he was consorting with Azran  _ -Crowley-  _ again.

Gabriel refused to lose Aziraphale, especially to see him fall. The only way to stop him getting into more trouble was to train him to keep away from Crowley, and stop him being such a bleeding heart all the blessed time. Better broken and obedient, than lost to Hell. 

With a heavy sigh, Gabriel summoned Aziraphale to the small back office for a strict word, and an even stricter demonstration of what would continue to happen if he didn’t mend his ways.

“You wanted to see me, Gabriel?”

His tone was mild, friendly even, but there was something steely in those expressive blue eyes. The first few times he’d needed to be punished, he’d looked at Gabriel with such shock and betrayal that the Archangel couldn’t repress a stab of guilt, quickly followed by disgust at himself for being so weak. How could he save Aziraphale from the damnation he seemed determined to fall into, if he couldn’t discipline him? He’d forced the Principality to stand with his back to him so he couldn’t see his face the first time Gabriel gave him a taste of what Hell would be like, the sudden  _ snap _ of his wing bone admittedly sickening in the quiet room.

That was a long time ago. Once he realised he couldn’t escape his punishment, he started looking at Gabriel with defiance, refusing to admit to anything, refusing to even flinch.

It was agonising to watch. If he would just  _ learn _ his lesson already, all this could stop. But he stubbornly refused to repent.

“You’ve been seen with Crowley. Coming out of a tavern with him last century. Talking in the street. Even sharing a beverage with him. You know I forbid it.”

Oh that beautiful, innocent look. Gabriel angrily swallowed down a surge of longing. Such a disobedient angel could never be good enough for him. 

“Well, he is my opposition. I must keep tabs on him, you know. Part of the job description.”

“You will stay away from him, or I will have you replaced.” Gabriel ground out, shaking with anger. Why was the Principality so relentlessly determined to fall? Why could he not see that Gabriel could never let that happen? “I will not have you going around sinning with impunity! You’re naive and reckless and I will make you see the error of your ways, no matter what it takes. Now open your wings.”

Aziraphale hesitated for only a second,  an expression of dread flitting across his face . Gabriel detected something else too - something new. A feeling of confusion … exhaustion … as if Aziraphale’s grip on reality had slipped for just a moment. Then his beautiful white wings spread behind him, moving slightly as they settled. They were so beautiful. If only the Principality would stop this madness, then the pain would stop. Gabriel felt a dark surge of anticipation thrill through him as he closed his hand tightly against the delicate edge of Aziraphale’s wing. It wasn’t wrong, he told himself. Clearly what he felt was God’s righteous joy that he cared enough to take a wayward angel in hand.

* * *

Two hours later, Gabriel was striding back to his office, studiously ignoring the almost imperceptible clawing of shame and regret in his gut. Sometimes he wondered what in the sweet name of the Lord was wrong with Aziraphale. That he didn’t show so much as a hint of gratitude was truly baffling. He was but a lowly Principality, a demoted angel who’d fallen under the spell of the wrong brother, but Gabriel was willing to expend time and energy to make sure he got back on the straight and narrow. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. 

Well, even if Aziraphale was ungrateful, Gabriel would continue to do his holy duty and go to whatever lengths were necessary to ensure Aziraphale did his. Crowley had already got himself thrown out of Heaven. Gabriel would give up his position as Archangel before he let his reckless, selfish sibling cause Aziraphale to fall, too. And if Aziraphale had to suffer along the way, well, that was his own fault for fraternizing. 

If Gabriel was entirely certain She wouldn’t overhear, he might have allowed himself a moment to imagine the kind of sinless, pure love he would so willingly share with Aziraphale. He might imagine an outcome where Aziraphale saw with clarity the path of righteousness, so Gabriel no longer had to take such a strict line with him. The Principality would finally look at him with gratitude and let himself be protected and admired by the truly holy sibling. The one who didn’t sin before God and hadn’t gotten himself cast out of heaven. Until such a time, it was only right that he continue to try and correct Aziraphale’s dangerously misguided loyalties. Gabriel’s conscience was clear.

Satisfied, he miracled Aziraphale’s blood from his hands and returned to his other duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> The next chapter is already underway! Meantime why not check out some of my other fics. So, what are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	12. If You Be The One To Cut Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Aziraphale finds himself locked up in the Bastille, Gabriel visits him to gloat - and offer an impossible choice.
> 
> _Aziraphale foundered. He was confident Crowley’s memory removal had worked, which meant Gabriel’s evidence was relatively thin. He and Crowley had been careful not to touch or even talk too much in public. Aziraphale quietly cursed himself for letting his guard down at the theatre. He quickly cast around for the words that would afford Crowley the most protection, inasmuch as anything could protect either of them now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning!**
> 
> Gabriel is, again, cruel and unhinged and perverted in this chapter. Beware that, and strongly implied and referenced torture.
> 
> Thanks go as always to the wonderful [ Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for outstanding beta work!

Aziraphale looked down at the dirty manacles on his wrists, a creeping sense of embarrassment ensnaring his insides like a vine. It should have been such an easy assignment. Pop across the channel, help some struggling families get the food and shelter they desperately needed, and home in time to open his bookshop. Oh, how was he going to explain this to Crowley? Not that he owed Crowley an explanation, but ever since the incident in the tavern he’d felt prickly and uncomfortable about what Crowley had seen.

Crowley wouldn’t think less of him. Didn’t think less of him. Still, he was careful never to talk about the way Heaven treated him, and now that included making sure Crowley didn’t find out how naive he’d been this time. A quick miracle and he’d be on his way back to London. He raised his hands to perform the celestial feat, when the metal grate swung open and in strode Gabriel.

“Gabriel. What an unexpected pleasure.”

The Archangel didn’t deign to respond to the obvious sarcasm, instead walking over to stand close enough that Aziraphale’s blood ran cold. He scrambled to his feet rather than be seated while Gabriel loomed over him, though he resisted the urge to back up. Even though his wings were on the unseen plane, he could feel them aching with the memories of their last breaking, some fifty three years before.

“Feeling good, Sunshine? Came over here to help the poor and suffering like the obedient, little angel you are?”

Aziraphale drew himself up a little straighter on his stool. “You said people were in want of food and shelter. I came to assist, as you ordered.”

“And somehow ended up chained in the Bastille like a common criminal. Or, more accurately, like an aristocrat awaiting execution. Imagine not even having the foresight to disguise yourself. Did you do no due diligence at all?”

Gabriel’s smile turned nastier and he leaned down so his nose was inches away from Aziraphale’s, close enough that the Principality could smell the sickly scent of his breath, like flowers with an under-note of decay.

“One rather expects to be warned. Isn’t that your job – to make sure your employees are able to perform their duties?” Aziraphale countered, and steeled himself to not react to whatever came out of the blessed fool’s mouth next. He’d spent years training himself to act calmly no matter what Gabriel did to him, though he rather suspected his expression gave his feelings away at times.

“Your assignment, Aziraphale, is to show me what it will take for you to actually obey me.”

“Obey you? I came here as you asked ...”

Gabriel cut him off with a snarl, grabbing Aziraphale’s lapels and pulling him to his feet before backing him against the cold stone wall, the Archangel’s hands braced against the stone, forming a cage around Aziraphale with his solid body.

“I ordered you to stay away from Crowley, but what did I see not five nights since? You and Crowley at the Covent Garden Theatre. I saw you sitting with that vile creature, in the dress circle, no less.”

“I see no harm in talking to him from time to time. Know thine enemy, as they say.”

He tried to sound flippant, as if talking to Crowley was merely an occasional happening, but he could feel himself trembling slightly. Gabriel was watching him with simmering anger that was even more vicious than normal. Aziraphale glanced quickly around, but there was no easy way to escape. If he tried to do a miracle now, Gabriel would block him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he had the physical prowess to beat him in an out and out fight. He was strong, but Gabriel was taller and built like a wall of solid muscle. He suddenly remembered the feel of those wide spade-like hands closing on the long bones of his wings, and shuddered. Before he could make a decision, Gabriel moved so fast Aziraphale barely had time to register what was happening before the Archangel’s hand was tight around his thigh, pressing hard against the scar that never quite healed. That was never allowed to heal.

“You want him.” Gabriel hissed, his eyes darkening like a tornado about to rip everything in the vicinity to shreds. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

Aziraphale foundered. He was confident Crowley’s memory removal had worked, which meant Gabriel’s evidence was relatively thin. He and Crowley had been careful not to touch or even talk too much in public. Aziraphale quietly cursed himself for letting his guard down at the theatre. He quickly cast around for the words that would afford Crowley the most protection, inasmuch as anything could protect either of them now.

“You’re a fool, Aziraphale, if you imagine even a demon could truly want you. You’re not good enough for Heaven, and you’re far too weak for Hell.” He dug his fingers into Aziraphale’s thigh, squeezing painfully hard. “You’re determined to fall, aren’t you? No matter what I do to train you better.”

“And what would you have me do now?”

He could hear his own voice shaking and it frustrated him. He’d long since learned that showing any fear stoked a tiny fire of guilt in Gabriel, flickering in the Archangel’s eyes before the next blow or cut. That guilt invariably inflamed him more, and it was worse for Aziraphale that way. 

But the other angel didn’t move to strike, just kept his fingers dug painfully hard into Aziraphale’s thigh, bringing to mind vivid memories of being made to lie down on Gabriel’s desk while a holy-fire dagger scorched through flesh and bone alike.

“It’s been a few years since I made you get your wings out for me. But I’ve done that so many times now that I’m almost bored with it. Perhaps I ought to switch things up a little. Keep you on your toes.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the hand white-knuckled around his leg and felt his stomach drop. Gabriel followed the look, then met Aziraphale’s eyes with an icy smile.

“Seeing as you’re so very fond of Crowley, let’s play a little game. I’m going to give you two choices.”

He stepped closer, close enough that their chests were almost touching.

“If you miracle yourself free, I will make sure some potentially incriminating information about Crowley reaches the ears of his superiors. I dread to think what they’ll do to him if they find out he’s been … fraternizing.”

“But if I don’t perform a miracle….”

Aziraphale stared at him in horror. Surely even Gabriel couldn’t mean …?

“Yes. If you walk out there and put this pretty neck of yours ….” he paused to raise his hand from Aziraphale’s thigh to squeeze his throat none too gently … “under the guillotine blade, I won’t say anything to Hell and Crowley will be safe. You’ll be dead, of course, but perhaps that’s the lesson you need.”

Aziraphale felt as breathless as if Gabriel had just punched him in the gut. He couldn’t risk Crowley, for anything. But if he let himself be discorporated – no, not just discorporated, decapitated – who knew how long it would be before he saw earth again. Gabriel would have him trapped in Heaven.

The Archangel leaned close to his ear and spoke low. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ll let you back to Earth after – I have to, for as long as She wants you as our representative here. But how long it takes to requisition a new body … now, that’s up to me. When you react properly to your punishment and show genuine remorse, that’s when I’ll let you back.”

Then he was gone, leaving Aziraphale alone in the cold, damp cell. With legs shaking so badly he could barely move, he stumbled his way back to the rough-hewn stool and sat down heavily on it. The executioner would likely come for him at any moment – he had to think quickly. If he miracled himself free, Crowley would be in grave danger. But if he let himself be discorporated, he was heaping evidence onto the apparently growing pile of proof that he cared for Crowley. 

What would happen to Crowley’s grace if Aziraphale was discorporated? He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his midsection as if he could somehow hold the stolen grace there, keep it safe no matter what came next.

There had to be another way out. Perhaps he could talk his way out of it. French was one of the generous smattering of languages he spoke fluently, and he could lean on the axeman with a little temptation. Heaven wouldn’t be expecting that. There was only one problem. His grasp of languages had been slipping of late.

Truth be told, his grasp of most things seemed to be slipping, here and there. He’d lost two memories - their first kiss, plus one other that Crowley could not or would not tell him. That should be safe, so why as the years passed did he feel like he was very slowly losing his mind? He was normally perfectly successful at blending in with any situation in which he found himself, yet he’d ended up here in the Bastille, sticking out like Shakespeare’s  _ snowy dove trooping with crows _ . The analogy made him smile faintly, remembering sitting with Crowley – Crawly, then – on a hillside after the flood, commenting that the free-spirited crows put him in mind of the free-spirited demon. Perhaps he’d even influenced Crowley’s choice of name. What a beautiful thought.

And now, if he couldn't sweet talk or tempt his way out of this, Crowley would be in danger. Even if he could, Gabriel would be furious.

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a long moment. Talking his way out of it would infuriate Gabriel. That could mean an even greater risk to Crowley. A miracle would put Crowley in danger from Hell. Out of three terrible options, the only one that would protect Crowley even a little bit was the one where Gabriel got exactly what he wanted.

With a quick, desperate plea to his own grace to protect Crowley’s, he wrapped the demon’s divine energy tight and hidden in his own, and stood up to face the executioner.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> The next chapter is already underway! Meantime why not check out some of my other fics. So, what are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	13. I'll Be There When You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley won't let anything happen to his angel if he can prevent it. Aziraphale is caught between telling Crowley about Gabriel's machinations, and skirting around the truth in order to protect him.
> 
> _“You. Are. Impossible.” _
> 
> _His tone was so sardonically, beautifully -Crowley- that Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing as he reached out and stroked the demon’s hair, pulling the ridiculous barrel curls loose so it cascaded around his sharp features, catching the light from the hearth in falls of firelit rust. Crowley didn’t protest when Aziraphale reached up to remove his glasses, feeling a smile spread across his own face at the sight of those dear, beautiful golden eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please heed the tags!
> 
> Endless thanks as always to [Mira Woros for outstanding beta work!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos)

**Paris, 1793**

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to draw his attention inwards, away from the noise and smell of the crowd, and the rough splintered wood of the stocks around his neck. It would be fine, he told himself. So long as he could keep hold of Crowley’s grace, it would be fine. The blade would fall, it would be over fast, and in a few years or decades – whenever Gabriel deigned to let him go – he’d be back on earth.

He just had to get through being discorporated first. He could feel sweat pouring down his face, and his body was trembling uncontrollably. He’d had this body since the beginning. It was the corporation he’d worn when he first saw Crowley, when they first kissed, first touched each other … it had even survived dying and coming back to life, thanks to Crowley’s bravery. He didn’t know what to expect. The only certainty was that when he got back to Heaven, Gabriel would be waiting with a smug smile, and most likely that cruel fire-tipped dagger.

He didn’t want to put himself back in Gabriel’s hands. All he wanted – had wanted for the last several centuries – was Crowley. With one last, desperate plea to the demon’s lost grace to please, please find a way to hold tight and keep itself safe inside Aziraphale’s angelic core, he screwed his eyes shut and waited for the blade to fall, thinking of Crowley. Only of Crowley. He would have given anything to touch him once more.

When the guillotine started shuddering, Aziraphale supposed that it must be the effect of the blade moving. His perception of time must have distorted until he was feeling every second in excruciating detail as the blade dropped towards him.

But then the stocks around his neck cracked and fell away from him like a cocoon breaking apart. Pushing himself back onto his knees, he looked around in confusion. The crowd was still, as if every last person had been hypnotised. The air filled with a cracking, groaning sound, like a haunted ship creaking the story of its ghosts. At first Aziraphale thought his vision was failing him, but he quickly realized that there was nothing wrong with his sight – he really was seeing the guillotine slowly pull itself apart, broken-off bits of wood flying through the air. He could feel the pressure of time held still, thrumming in protest and struggling to start again.

Crowley. He scrambled to his feet, scanning the crowd, searching everywhere for his demon. The executioner still had his hand wrapped around the rope, his face frozen in an expression of utter confusion. Then suddenly time was rushing in on itself once more. For a second he thought he saw Gabriel in the crowd, face contorted in rage. Aziraphale quickly brought his hands up to cover his face, feeling large splinters of wood penetrating his clothes, jagged edges piercing his skin in what felt like a hundred places. 

There was a roar of anger, something no human could utter, and he was in Crowley’s arms, with the guillotine a tornado of fractured wood around them. Aziraphale flung his arms around the demon’s waist and held on, face buried against his chest.

“I’ve got you now, angel.”

Crowley muttered against his ear, breath a warm tingle against his skin, and wiry arms wrapped tight around him, huge black wings blanketing him and shielding him from the splinters.

“And I’m never letting you go again.”

Aziraphale couldn’t do anything but cry with relief as Crowley snapped his fingers and they vanished from the platform in a haze of splinters and gunsmoke.

* * *

“Hold still, angel.”

Crowley’s voice was gentle, his hands even gentler as he used tweezers to carefully pluck splinters from Aziraphale’s skin. He’d miracled them to a château richly furnished with candles, heavy brocade and velvet, and with a blazing fire in the grate.

“M’sorry about this. Took so much energy to stop time for that many people, lost control of the bloody guillotine. Now I can’t miracle the damn splinters away because I need to hide us.”

“Crowley, it’s fine. There aren’t that many. Truly nothing compared to being stabbed with a flaming sword.”

Crowley tried to laugh, but it came out flat and lifeless. He looked up from where he was kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet, carefully drawing a splinter from the angel’s bare forearm.

“Think that’s most of them. Could you, erm, take your breeches off so I can get a better look at that one in your thigh?”

Aziraphale froze. Crowley had seen the scar on his thigh, of course, at the same time he’d seen Gabriel in the tavern about to re-open it. He’d seen Aziraphale naked since that night. But Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of bringing it so obviously to his attention.

“Angel? Something wrong?”

With a quiet, resigned sigh, Aziraphale removed his breeches. Crowley drew a sharp breath in at the sight of the scar, but said nothing, though even through the dark glasses Aziraphale could see how hard his gaze was. He quietly set to work with the tweezers, pressing a soothing compress to the bleeding exit point as soon as the shard of wood was free, dipping down to kiss Aziraphale’s knee reverently. Aziraphale tensed at the contact, fingers curling tight into Crowley’s hair.

When the demon forgot himself and changed position to bite inside the angel’s thigh, Aziraphale felt a wave of rising panic beneath the bone-deep craving Crowley elicited in him. They’d had to be so judicious about not getting caught that they’d hardly dared touch, only sneaking quick kisses and embraces here and there. Aziraphale could feel his hands trembling with fear. Gabriel must have seen Crowley. Now their cover was thoroughly blown, and after everything they’d been through trying to hide themselves.

“Why on earth did you rescue me? I had the situation perfectly under control.”

Crowley looked up at him, his expression clouded with a mixture of desire and exasperation that made Aziraphale’s head swim.

“Under control?” Crowley threw his hands up in frustration. “Under control? You were about to be decapitated, for Satan’s sake!”

“I am aware,” Aziraphale said primly, getting dressed and fussing unnecessarily over the fastenings to keep from meeting Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel.” Crowley sat down beside him on the chaise longue, slender fingers playing over his jaw. Aziraphale swallowed hard. Heavens, it had been so long since Crowley had held him. “What the deuce were you doing at the Bastille?”

Aziraphale feigned a casual tone. “I was peckish. You can’t get decent crepes anywhere outside Paris.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that you, the smartest person I know, nipped across the channel in the middle of a revolution because you wanted something to nibble on? Dressed like that?”

Aziraphale shrugged as if to say Crowley could believe whatever he pleased. “I suppose I should say thank you,” he muttered.

“Don’t say that. If my lot find out I rescued an angel it’ll be my head on the block.”

“Well. I’m very grateful.” Aziraphale let himself move closer to Crowley, and was rewarded with the heat of the demon’s mouth against his skin as he pressed kisses down the angel’s neck as if relieved it was unharmed, bracketing his arms around Aziraphale in a tight, protective embrace.

“Crowley, you don’t know what you’ve done. Why did you have to interfere?”

There was a long, cold silence. Then Crowley heaved a ragged sigh of frustration as he buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“You. Are. Impossible.” 

His tone was so sardonically, beautifully -Crowley- that Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing as he reached out and stroked the demon’s hair, pulling the ridiculous barrel curls loose so it cascaded around his sharp features, catching the light from the hearth in falls of firelit rust. Crowley didn’t protest when Aziraphale reached up to remove his glasses, feeling a smile spread across his own face at the sight of those dear, beautiful golden eyes.

“Can I kiss you now or do you want to complain about me saving you some more?”

“Are we safe?”

“Yeah, angel. The link I made will hide us for a little bit.”

Aziraphale nodded, wrapping both arms around Crowley and leaning up to kiss him hard and deep, groaning softly as he ran his hands over every inch of his body, silently cursing every scrap of fabric for keeping him from Crowley’s bare skin. The demon kissed back with equal fervour, one hand against Aziraphale’s back, pressing them together, the other tugging his hair none too gently.

“Hell’s sake, why do you taste so good?” Crowley murmured against his mouth, wrapping both arms around him again and holding him tighter. 

Aziraphale couldn’t answer, his heart hammering as he held onto Crowley, forgetting everything but him, at least for a moment. But as Crowley drew back from the kiss, he felt the connection between them shiver and change to something sharper.

“You were about to die, angel. Gonna tell me what the hell happened?”

Aziraphale sighed, getting up so he could wander around the room, thinking quickly.

“I’ve been doing too many frivolous miracles.” He said lightly. “I couldn’t get away with another one.”

“They’d consider saving your own life a frivolous miracle?”

“Something like that.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We don’t have days to spare, here. Can you  _ please _ just tell me why in the name of Pandemonium you were on the goddamn guillotine?”

Aziraphale heard the catch in Crowley’s voice, and guilt gnawed at his gut. But the less he knew, the safer he was.

“I didn’t want to rock the boat. We both know what Gabriel’s capable of.”

“Angel ….” Crowley stopped. The tension simmering in the air felt like the burning cold of plunging one’s hand into icy water. “Give me a hand with these wards, would you? Me vanishing you probably isn’t going to go over well. Bit of extra time to make a plan wouldn’t go amiss.”

Aziraphale nodded quietly. He hated when things were discordant between them, but he couldn’t see a way to solve it without telling Crowley the truth, and putting him in more danger. He knew his lover, and Crowley would storm the gates of Heaven in a heartbeat if he knew the whole story. Not meeting Crowley’s eyes, he opened his wings to help draw a little extra energy down.

When he heard Crowley’s hiss and felt the energy in the room turn deadly as a keg of gunpowder about to blow, he realised his mistake. Suddenly the demon’s fingers were curled under his chin, making him look up into his eyes, and though his voice was soft, it felt like the edge of a knife.

“Who did this to your wings? Was it him?”

“Looks worse than it is ….” he heard himself say. “They always go back to normal after a while. Well, nearly normal. They’re not healing quite as fully these days,” he admitted as he glanced sideways at the greying feathers and obviously deformed long bones.

Crowley gave a snarl that turned Aziraphale’s blood icy, grabbing the antique vase from the nearby table and hurling it into the fireplace with enough force to crack the tile surround. Quickly followed by ripping the mantel from the wall and hurling it to the floor.

“I’m going to tear that bastard limb from limb and make sure he lives long enough to watch me burn each one in Hellfire,” he growled, sparks of said Hellfire dripping from his fingers and burning holes through the floor. 

Crowley was visibly shaking with rage, the remaining marble around the fireplace disintegrating into stony dust, as a sudden dark wind lashed the château hard enough to crack the windowpane.

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale opened his wings slightly more and drew down the energy Crowley had requested. It stung, but they still worked well enough. Crowley was watching him in horror, and Aziraphale could see his fingernails digging into his palms hard enough that thin rivulets of blood trickled from his fists.

“How long has he been breaking your wings?”

“Since Eden.”

“Eden?! Have you … told anyone?”

“I tried once or twice.”

“And yet he’s clearly still getting away with it? Who else do I have to rip apart?”

“Crowley, he’s the Archangel Gabriel, for crying out loud. Of course no one believed a semi-disgraced Principality over him. Besides, it was worse when he found out I’d tried to tell, so I didn’t try again.”

Crowley buried his face in his hands for a long time.

“Because of me.”

“Beg pardon?”

“He did it the first time, because you sheltered me.”

Aziraphale plucked absently at one over-sensitive grey feather, unable to bring himself to answer. His silence was answer enough for Crowley.

“The other times weren’t all because of you.”

He offered, as if that might help. Crowley made a strangled sound of anger and the room shuddered as if rattled by a passing earthquake.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” Aziraphale added quietly, noticing that the yellow of Crowley’s eyes had spilled across the whites. A scattering of black scales patterned the back of his hands and the dip of his throat, and his teeth looked decidedly sharper than usual.

“Don’t do anything …? Aziraphale, there’s no such thing as reckless in this situation. Anything that gets you away from that sick bastard – and don’t forget I saw what he did to you in the tavern – is fair game.”

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale seized the demon’s hands, thumbs rubbing over the scales on the backs of them. Crowley hissed, but didn’t pull away.

“If you go after him now, all these years trying to hide and protect each other were for nothing.”

“Not if I make sure any witnesses forget seeing me tear him into tiny pieces,” Crowley growled. 

His infernal energy was barely contained in his human corporation – Aziraphale could see the jagged broken wheel of his halo. Under any other circumstances, he would have found it fascinating, asking if it hurt and if he could heal it. But at that moment, all he could think about was stopping Crowley before he got himself killed.

“Is this why you were willing to let yourself be discorporated? Because you’re afraid of him?”

“Oh yes, you’ve got the truth of it. I’m just a weakling, scared of a bullying boss.”

“Aziraphale! You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“I’m sorry, I …” He stopped, took a breath. “I oughtn’t to have lashed out. I just … I never wanted you to know … to know that I’m his plaything, that I let him hurt me …”

“Known about how he treats you since the tavern. Suspected for longer.” Crowley muttered, his hands cupping Aziraphale’s face, gazing searchingly at him as he needed to see something in his eyes. When he didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for, he sighed with infinite sadness and rubbed his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheekbone.

“Angel … he  _ treats  _ you as his plaything because he’s a disgusting bastard who’s not even fit to look upon you. But you’re not … you don’t ...”

When Aziraphale didn’t answer, Crowley reached up to stroke his hair back from his forehead, that burning gaze never leaving his.

“You don’t  _ let _ him do this. He has power over you. He has you in a position where he can literally say whether you live or die, and how long it takes you to become corporeal again.”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak. He wanted desperately to believe Crowley. But there was that taunting voice inside him, telling him that he could put a stop to it if he tried harder.

“Look, we don’t have long left. At least, let me try to heal them a bit while we figure out what to do, alright? Gabriel will have to keep.”

“Crowley ...”

“Aziraphale, I will get you away from Heaven, and I will destroy him. There’s little point arguing with me. Now, let me see to your wings.”

Ten minutes later, Aziraphale was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to think of a sensible plan that would save them both from the fallout of Crowley’s rescue, and failing. Crowley, for his part, was sitting on the bed behind the angel, carefully resetting the long bones of his wings and doing his best to restore the dull feathers to their proper otherworldly sheen.

“Still didn’t give me a straight answer. Did you nearly let yourself get discorporated because that worthless twit threatened to do this to you again?”

Aziraphale twisted his fingers together nervously. He wanted to sink back against Crowley and beg for his help. Crowley, who had already risked everything for him, who had fallen a second time for him. Finally, he said stiffly “He told me that if I miracled myself free, he’d get you in trouble with Hell.”

“Pffft, angel. I can handle that lot. I’ve been doing it for thousands of years.”

“No, Crowley, not like this. He was going to tell them we’d been seen together, drop very strong hints that we’re fond of one another… oh, I know he doesn’t have proof but he’s not above telling half-truths to make it sound like he does. My love, they would have destroyed you.”

Crowley stared at him, but clearly couldn’t think of a response. Aziraphale was right, and Crowley knew it. After a long silence, Crowley shook his head, though his voice was soft.

“Aziraphale, I can’t get into Heaven without an invitation, you know that. It might have taken me eons to figure out how to storm the holy gates.”

“He made it clear that he’d let me requisition a new body fairly quickly. For a price.” Aziraphale said bitterly. “But that’s not my main concern,” he added quickly, hearing Crowley’s sharp intake of breath and feeling the ground under the floor rumble. “My main concern is that now he has the confirmation he needs -again- after everything we went through last century hide this from him.”

“What would you have done?” Crowley said, his tone almost pleading as he worked his hands over Aziraphale’s aching wings. “If it were me up there, what would you have done?”

Aziraphale sighed softly. Crowley didn’t say anything else, but the angel could feel his rage subsiding (temporarily, he suspected) as he gently massaged the sore wing roots.

“You want to know what I think, angel?” Crowley said a few minutes later. “I think you suffered his tortures for years, yet somehow you still have optimism about life and humanity. I think you still do your best to do what’s right, despite those insufferable zealots treating you in a way that frankly means they’ll all be quite fortunate to reach immortality.”

Aziraphale reached up to grasp the forearm that held him against the demon’s chest.

“That blackguard has ripped apart your self esteem,” Crowley continued. “Yet you’re still kind and a bit of a bastard and not afraid to be with me. That’s what I think.”

Aziraphale tried to hide the fact that he was wiping tears from his eyes. He failed miserably, and the next thing he knew he was sitting in Crowley’s lap as the demon carefully kissed the tears from his face.

“I’m terrified to be with you, of the harm that could come to you,” he whispered. “But I’m far more afraid of spending the rest of my time on earth without you.” Aziraphale managed a weak smile.

Crowley smiled back at him, warm fingers comforting against his cheek as he pulled Aziraphale close for a kiss. Before their lips could meet there was a crack of energy that made Aziraphale’s ears ring, and a sensation like the room being turned upside down. His fingers grasped at nothing. Crowley was gone.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> The next chapter is already underway! Meantime why not check out some of my other fics. So, what are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	14. Scent Of The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley gets help from a wholly unexpected quarter, secrets are revealed, and Gabriel dices with his own destruction.
> 
> _Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crowley’s waist and had just taken a step towards the door when he stopped with a sharp intake of breath, one hand coming up to press against his forehead in obvious pain._
> 
> _“Why does this … Crowley, why does this place look familiar? I haven’t been to Hell before, but I … I know this place. This room. You were there … Crowley you were … your wings were hurt. You were weeping … oh, it’s all so fuzzy. My love ...”_
> 
> _He was looking up at Crowley, utterly lost, but, oh, that dawning realisation was a knife in Crowley’s gut. He couldn’t let Aziraphale remember. It wasn’t safe, but if Crowley stopped the burgeoning memory in its tracks … no, he’d lost memories twice now, a third could be catastrophic._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos) for beta-ing this into shape and making the action much more exciting!
> 
> **Content warning** for strongly implied and referenced torture, aftermath of torture, and Crowley-on-Gabriel violence. Description level: Think less than Game of Thrones by a long shot. And as usual, do heed the tags.

**Compliance Department, Hell, Several Hours Later**

* * *

Crowley managed to crack his eyes open, barely. His capture was a blur of shouting and brimstone and rough handling. His body was a bloom of agony, his face was swollen, and he could taste coppery blood on his lips. The room was a swirl of sickly lights that flickered faintly, and deep, dark shadows that may or may not have been crawling about the stone walls. 

He risked a tiny stretch of his thoughts to find out if anything lurked in the shadows. Nope. Just him, the agony of being suspended from his chained-up arms, and a creeping sense of deja vu. Given how well he’d hidden the château it was the work of a powerful demon. Or perhaps they’d had help. He wouldn’t put it past Gabriel. 

The lights flared as the door creaked open, and dread dawned on Crowley like the realisation that one is about to suffocate. Of course they’d gone and put him in the storeroom where Aziraphale had found him after his fall. Of all the places in Hell. 

“Demon Crowley, rescuing an angel. That’s bad news. Bad news for you.”

Dagon. Crowley felt a shiver shoot down his limbs, as if even his fear was in a hurry to escape. She walked slowly over to him, her head tipped in that strange way, as if contemplating all the different ways she could hurt him, and which order would be the most satisfying.

Which was most likely what she was doing.

Crowley had to think fast. Problem was, he could barely think at all. When he tried to speak, he barely managed to croak, his throat was so parched.

Dagon was close enough now that her strange, scaly face swam into focus, and those metallic eyes stared unblinkingly at him. The salty scent of the sea tickled his nostrils and settled on his tongue. Dagon always smelled like a wild shoreline, an anomaly which seemed at odds with her monstrous personality. If Crowley were lucky she’d be in one of those vacant, faraway moods, where her emotions bubbled to the surface and she seemed less inclined to rip and split, and more inclined for philosophical, if nonsensical, conversation.

Crowley was not lucky. Dagon’s gaze was thoroughly compos mentis.

“Gave me free rein with you,” she informed him happily, tracing a long nail down his cheek and laughing when Crowley attempted to bite her. “And you have been very bad, haven’t you? So many things I could do, and you deserve the worst of them.”

She stepped back and Crowley saw what was in her hand. A brand. And discarded on the floor, a cat o’ nine tails. He grimaced. The manacles had obviously been treated with a touch of Holy fire, for he couldn’t pull his wrists free no matter how he struggled.

“Lord Beelzebub hinted that you deserve to be slowly dismembered with heated blades until there’s not enough left of you to return to Aziraphale.”

“Come now, Dagon, even the Master Of Torments can’t torture an immortal nearly to death with just a brand and a whip. What’s this then, the warm up? How merciful.”

“No!” It was sharp, but there was a strange crack to her voice. Crowley was confused. He’d seen Dagon dream up the most creative of torments and enjoy inflicting them.

“The bare minimum. You will get the bare minimum, so that Lord Beelzebub is not suspicious.”

Crowley shook his head slightly. Maybe being roughed up had damaged his hearing? Or his ability to process language? 

“You’re going to let me off easy?” Well, as much as anything in Hell could be called easy.

His mind cast wildly about and settled on the most likely explanation - that lulling him into a false sense of security was part of the psychological torture. But Dagon was regarding him with that strange stare and this close, Crowley could see shades of something that might almost have been empathy, mixed in with the hard cruelty. She was bizarre and no mistake, but Crowley would take any scrap of mercy he could get right now. The less injured he was, the better his chances of getting back to Aziraphale.

“Feelings. Overwhelming.”

Was all she said. Then she picked up the brand, sparks spitting from the white-hot end. There was an agonizing pause while she appeared to be mulling over some mystery. Then Crowley felt a rough piece of wood pushed between his teeth. To prevent him biting his tongue, he thought vaguely.

It was the last semi-coherent thought he was able to form for some time.

* * *

“Get away from me!”

Crowley jerked his head sharply, before the stranger could tip any more of the liquid into his mouth. Were they trying to poison him now? A jolt of pain scraped up his spine, rattling through the spaces between vertebrae until Crowley was quite certain his backbone was going to shatter of its own accord.

“It’s only water.” The voice was gentle and apologetic. “You must be so dehydrated.”

Crowley forced his eyes open again, and found himself staring straight at an angel he didn’t recognise.

“Fuck you,” he said succinctly. “Come to smite me have you? Kill me while I’m chained up and can’t defend myself? Figures.”

“I came because Dagon asked me to.”

Crowley considered for a moment that the entire thing was simply a pain-born hallucination and he would wake properly before long, bruised and burned and bleeding. Or perhaps they’d already destroyed him, and turned his consciousness mad, somehow. 

“I’m the Archangel Sachiel. I am Dagon’s brother.”

Now Crowley was certain they’d driven him mad.

“Nice try. Angels don’t have sssssiblings” he half-slurred, half-hissed, then darkness bled into the edges of his vision, and the world vanished again.

When he awoke again, Sachiel was still next to him holding that damned cup. 

“They do, you know,” Sachiel told him when he raised the cup to Crowley’s lips again. The demon let the angel tip some of the water into his mouth this time. He had to admit, it was soothing against his cracked lips and dry tongue. 

“I can’t unchain you,” Sachiel added apologetically. “Sneaking in and doing a little healing is one thing – easy enough to hide if we get caught. And I can leave the scars so it will look worse than it is. But if they catch you unchained ….”

“We’d all be for it.” Crowley gave the chains an experimental yank, but they still held fast. Bless it. “Seeing as I’ve got nothing to do but hang here figuring out how to escape, start talking.”

Sachiel cocked an eyebrow, but his deep blue eyes were kind. 

“May I heal you while we talk? It would be useful if I could rest my hands on you.”

Crowley still felt every hackle rising, itching to grab the nearest celestial being, whether it was helping him or not, and make it pay for the way Heaven had treated Aziraphale. But as much as part of him screamed out that he should be spitting vitriol and demanding Sachiel leave him alone, he wanted the pain to ease. 

“Yeah, s’fine. Thanks,” he said, trying to sound like he didn’t care much what Sachiel did either way. 

The Archangel nodded, and placed one hand carefully on Crowley’s waist as he started talking. Dagon reappeared then, pacing towards Crowley, then back to the door, over and over. Her eyes were wild, and she was obviously listening to every word her brother spoke. Crowley had no idea if she was plotting something terrible, or standing guard.

“A handful of angels were created in pairs, each from the same strand of Her energy, made to fit together. No one knows why. An experiment, or She was bored, or She wanted to sprinkle in a little chaos and see what fell out. Who knows, truly?”

Crowley couldn’t help a wry smile. Sachiel was clearly not much one for blind adoration.

“Anyway, after the fall, a few of us who had siblings looked into it. Turned out the fallen tended not to remember their brothers and sisters. Something about the way falling tore the connection, one assumes. But we who did not fall, remembered, and some of us were determined to find them again.”

He glanced at Dagon with a mix of love and heartbreak that hurt Crowley to witness. He hadn’t known Dagon before the fall. But this angel had. He remembered who and what she’d been and had to live with no hope of ever seeing that version of his sister again.   
“So you and Dagon still meet, sometimes?”

Sachiel gave an elegant shrug, his voice warm and quiet as a summer breeze.

“What else would we do? I'm not going to leave her here alone.”

“Why not speak up for your right, for all of your rights, to see your siblings?”

Sachiel regarded him with a long, calm look, until Crowley caught on to the obvious answer, that Sachiel had seen what happened to those who spoke up too loudly. 

The Archangel moved behind Crowley and rested both hands on his bare back. Crowley tensed, a low threat of a hiss starting in his throat.

“Let me help?” Sachiel asked.

Crowley hesitated, then nodded. Managed not to flinch away from Sachiel’s hands. Dagon approached again. Up close, Crowley could see how different she was with her sibling nearby. Her eyes were clearer and more focused, with less obvious nastiness, though she still looked like she was half in her own world.Crowley could almost imagine the angel she must have been.

“Got to get out.” Dagon informed him. “Get out before Aziraphale comes for you. Not safe for him down here, Crowley, brave angel like that, food for hungry demons. Got to get you out. Figure out how to … to ...”

She shook her head, auburn strands moving like waves on the sea.

“Oh, Crowley, you’re in so much trouble now. Rather not be you.”

Crowley watched her carefully. He was quickly learning that even with Sachiel present, Dagon could switch from nearly-gentle to quite the opposite in a fraction of a moment. When Dagon reached up to touch his face, Crowley gave a warning snarl.

“Let you off easy this time.” She muttered, and suddenly her eyes were sad. “This time. Next time will be much worse, so bad, Crowley. Be … be careful.”

Sachiel walked round to join Dagon, and Crowley watched as he gently wrapped his arms around his sibling.

“Thank you for calling me today. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

Dagon nodded slowly, swaying slightly in place, fingers convulsively twisting a strand of Sachiel’s golden hair. Then she wandered from the room, pausing only to look back at Sachiel.

There was a long, heavy silence.

“I’m sorry.” Crowley said at length. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Sachiel let one shoulder rise and fall slightly, as if to say “it is how it is,” but the eyes that met Crowley’s were shadowed with pain.

“You didn’t deserve this, Crowley. None of you did. I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone, leaving Crowley alone in the darkness.

* * *

The footsteps hurrying down the corridor towards the storeroom were rapid and light, as if someone was trying to be as furtive as possible. Please let it be Dagon come to set him free. Crowley was hardly in a position to fight anyone else.

The heavy stone door ground open slowly, letting in a crack of dim, flickering light, followed by a familiar angel.

“Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my love.” Aziraphale quickly crossed the floor to him, glancing over his shoulder as if to check they weren’t being observed, cupping Crowley’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly. “My darling, what have they done to you?”

Up close, it was obvious that Aziraphale was trembling with suppressed rage. His touch was soft and solicitous, but his eyes blazed with a fierceness Crowley couldn’t recall seeing before, and every so often his wings or halo flashed behind him like lightning strikes.

“Just get me down from here. Dagon has gone...don’t know when she’ll be back.... Let’s just … let’s go, Angel.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly, reaching up and snapping the manacles as if they were icicles. He held Crowley carefully, supporting him as he took a shaking step forward, hands warm as he tenderly rubbed life back into Crowley’s aching arms, examining the demon for injuries, fingers ghosting over the scars on his back.

“Not nearly as bad as they look. Long story. Tell you when we’re topside.” Crowley muttered, clinging to Aziraphale’s broad shoulders for support. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crowley’s waist and had just taken a step towards the door when he stopped with a sharp intake of breath, one hand coming up to press against his forehead in obvious pain.

“Why does this … Crowley, why does this place look familiar? I haven’t been to Hell before, but I … I know this place. This room. You were there … Crowley you were … your wings were hurt. You were weeping … oh, it’s all so fuzzy. My love ...”

He was looking up at Crowley, utterly lost, but, oh, that dawning realisation was a knife in Crowley’s gut. He couldn’t let Aziraphale remember. It wasn’t safe, but if Crowley stopped the burgeoning memory in its tracks … no, he’d lost memories twice now, a third could be catastrophic.

“C’mon Angel. Before Dagon returns.”

The ploy was useless. Aziraphale was staring at him, fingers digging in Crowley’s skin.

“I’ve been here. With you.”

“Angel, just … just please don’t think about it, not now, come on ...”

“Dagon!” A familiar voice boomed in the corridor outside. “Always a pleasure I’m sure. Where is the demon Crowley? I desire a word.”

Gabriel. Because the universe really was that malicious. Aziraphale staggered, and Crowley tried to steady him. 

“After you fell ...”

He began, but before he could finish the sentence, the door was opening and that strident voice was calling Crowley’s name. Vivid memories of Aziraphale bleeding out in the tavern crashed into Crowley’s mind. If Gabriel knew Aziraphale had saved Crowley from falling … it was hard to know if he’d destroy him completely, or make him suffer for as long as possible. Crowley would shred Gabriel to ribbons before he allowed either of those things to happen.

“Crowley, that’s why I hold your grace so easily. Because I was there when it flickered out.”

The door swung fully open. Crowley held Aziraphale as tight as he could. “I love you, Aziraphale, I love you, this is going to hurt, I’m so sorry, I know you’ll never forgive me ...” a quick snap of demonic power and the emerging memory was gone, leaving Aziraphale sinking to the floor, his gaze glassy. Crowley tried to cushion his fall, panic thundering through him. 

“You worthless, stupid demon! What have you done?”

Gabriel shoved him away from Aziraphale with such force that Crowley felt his head crack against the stone wall behind him as he landed. A gutteral noise exploded from his throat as he threw himself at the Archangel, knocking him away from Aziraphale, transforming into a serpent and pinning Gabriel in his coils, tight enough that he heard the Archangel’s bones cracking.

“Give me one good reason not to ssslay you right now.”

If Gabriel was trying to say words, Crowley didn’t know what they were, for all he could manage were desperate wheezing, choking sounds as Crowley squeezed tight enough to cut off his air supply. Not that he needed to breathe. Crowley just didn’t want to hear his sanctimonious tones. 

He gave an extra sharp squeeze, and was gratified when Gabriel groaned in obvious pain. But his angel needed him – he didn’t have time to draw out Gabriel’s last moments, make him pay for what he’d done. He reared up for the fatal strike. Gabriel was on his turf now, and Crowley would use every demonic trick in the book to destroy him and leave no trace of his repulsive existence.. 

The Archangel somehow wrested his arm free, and his fist connected with the side of Crowley’s head hard enough to make him see stars. Then Gabriel pinned his upper body to the stone floor, gripping Crowley’s throat in an iron fist, even as Crowley’s lower coils squeezed Gabriel’s torso and legs with enough force to pulverize mountains.

“Aziraphale,” the Archangel ground out, and Crowley reflexively spit at him for daring to speak that name. “How many times has he lost his memory?”

When Crowley didn’t answer, Gabriel punched him again, so hard that Crowley felt blood trickle down his face.

“How many?!” Gabriel screamed at him.

“Two.” Crowley growled, arching and getting a good blow to Gabriel’s ribs with his tail.

Instead of striking back, Gabriel suddenly went limp within Crowley’s coils, as if all the fight had bled out of him.

“He lost them once before, so this is the fourth time.” He said, his voice dark and regretful as the aftermath of a hurricane, and Crowley felt a sudden shudder pass through the Archangel. “He’ll never let me heal him. It’ll have to be you. Do it quickly or he’ll lose his mind altogether.” 

Crowley suddenly tasted the salt of tears and the primal fear of loss from the Archangel, jarring enough that he was bewildered, relaxing his hold on Gabriel for a fraction of a second. Then he came to his senses and took advantage of Gabriel’s momentary distraction to crush a few ribs, rage spiking in him like a fever. Lost them once before? What did that mean? What had the brute done to Aziraphale? Crowley didn’t need to know the details, to exact vengeance.

“Give me one good reassson not to kill you first,” Crowley hissed. 

Gabriel snapped back to himself, the air filling with condescension once more, though it was pierced with the pain of broken bones.

“Because, pathetic worm, there’s going to come a time in the future when you’re going to need celestial help to stop your precious angel losing his grip on reality altogether. Maybe I won’t help you. But if I’m dead, I can’t help you, and do you really want to take the risk?”

Crowley opened his mouth to ask why Gabriel was willing to let them go at all, given that he’d forced Aziraphale onto the guillotine, and had tried to murder Crowley with a flaming sword. He wavered. Gabriel was right there for the killing and Crowley would take great pleasure in finally snuffing him out. But he couldn’t risk denying Aziraphale the help he might need. Maybe it was all a lie, a plea for his life, but Crowley didn’t have the time to figure any of it out. Aziraphale was unconscious on the floor, his skin waxy, and celestial light dim. He turned back to Gabriel. 

“You’ve bought yourself time and nothing more. I’ll see you pay for what you’ve done to him. You’ll wish you’d fallen by the time I’m finished with you.”

With that he struck fast, fangs tearing through cloth and flesh, sinking deep into a vein in Gabriel’s arm, injecting just the right amount of venom to cause a certain amount of internal bleeding and searing agony. Shoving the Archangel hard into the nearest wall, Crowley had Aziraphale in his coils in seconds. The angel’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled up at Crowley.

“I was supposed to be rescuing you.” he muttered. “Crowley, my head …”

“I know, angel. I’ll get us out of here.”

Aziraphale nodded, wrapping his arms trustingly around Crowley and pressing his cheek to his scales.

“Take me home.”

“Where’s home these days?” Crowley asked. They’d been careful not to visit each other’s homes, so as not to arouse suspicion.

“Wherever you are, my love,” Aziraphale said, holding on as Crowley let loose a demonic miracle, taking them as far away from Hell as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are fuel for hungry authors - I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> The next chapter is already underway! Meantime why not check out some of my other fics. So, what are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	15. Cure Me, Kill Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effects of Crowley erasing Aziraphale's memory are already making themselves known. While Crowley wrestles with how tohelp his angel, Aziraphale suffers the after-effects of having a memory taken, and Crowley learns that not everyone in heaven is terrible.
> 
> _Stunned and shaking, Crowley stood in the middle of the room, staring at the love of his long existence, and willing his shocked mind to think of a single workable idea. Heal him right now, Gabriel had said. Right now. For a wild second, Crowley considered stealing his own grace back and using it to heal Aziraphale. But he doubted even that would be enough, and it wasn’t as if he had time to experiment. Aziraphale needed someone who had in-depth knowledge of healing, not someone who was shooting arrows in the dark and hoping not to pierce something vital._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos), the most wonderful beta anyone could ask for! GLS wouldn't be what it is without you.
> 
> **Content warning**: Anxiety and PTSD, flashbacks, reference to Gabriel's previous violation of Aziraphale's mind, and enough sadness to fill a river.
> 
> And this seems a good place to remind you (and myself!!) of the “eventual happy ending” tag *hands you the tag, with a warm blanket and maybe a cookie* <3

**Mayfair, London, 1793**

* * *

Crowley miracled them straight to the bedroom of his sparsely-decorated Mayfair townhouse, helping Aziraphale onto the bed and watching in despair as the angel collapsed onto it, losing consciousness. His breathing fluttered, and his skin was blanched. Crowley dropped to the floor beside the bed, holding one of Aziraphale’s icy cold hands in both of his and fighting the urge to plead for help. From whom? Who on any plane of existence would help them now?

_ Heal him _ , the purple eyed oaf had said. As if Crowley could just snap his fingers and make everything right. Thinking back to Mesopotamia, Crowley wondered if he could use Aziraphale’s energy, hidden in his own, to heal the angel’s mind the same way it had once healed his physical wounds. Worth a try, and time was slipping away like water through his hands. He carefully called up Aziraphale’s energy from within him and nudged it towards Aziraphale’s mind. It came from the angel – surely it could heal him? But Aziraphale only winced in pain and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, before falling back into unconsciousness.

Feeling his own sanity stretching spiderweb-thin, Crowley reached for the angel’s wrist and found his pulse there, fluttering and skipping. Crowley dropped his forehead to rest on the bed beside Aziraphale’s thigh, giving a low growl of frustration. He should have forced much more information from Gabriel. Wrapping his panic in chains, Crowley gently pushed a little of his own demonic energy towards the angel. He’d enjoyed the feel of it in the past, in much better circumstances, so with any luck it would help him somehow now. At the touch of Crowley’s energy, Aziraphale came almost to full consciousness, yelping in pain and reflexively shoving Crowley away from himself.

Stunned and shaking, Crowley stood in the middle of the room, staring at the love of his long existence, and willing his shocked mind to think of a single workable idea. Heal him right now, Gabriel had said. Right now. For a wild second, Crowley considered stealing his own grace back and using it to heal Aziraphale. But he doubted even that would be enough, and it wasn’t as if he had time to experiment. Aziraphale needed someone who had in-depth knowledge of mental healing, not someone who was shooting arrows in the dark and hoping not to pierce something vital.

Crowley could only think of one person he would even entertain the idea of asking. Sachiel probably wouldn’t relish being called to a demon’s aid for the second time that day, and Crowley wasn’t exactly thrilled. But every second was a second closer to Aziraphale losing his bright, beautiful mind, and Crowley was willing to risk anything and everything to prevent that.

It wasn’t as if demons could go around summoning angels, but Crowley still had faint scars on his back from where Sachiel had healed him. Maybe they still had the ghost of a connection to the Archangel’s energy. Plus Crowley had some angelic energy still within him, thanks to Aziraphale …

Swallowing his pride, Crowley put all his focus into calling Sachiel’s name.

The flash of celestial lightning burned Crowley’s hands and face as it grazed them, leaving him staggering into the bed, gasping for breath.

“Crowley, you cannot just call me ...”

“Yes, fine, bad demon … look, Aziraphale needs help and you are the only person I would even consider letting near him, and I don’t care what price you’re going to demand. Hand me back over to Hell, make me drink holy water, torture me for the next sixty million eons, I don’t care, just help him.”

Sachiel was staring at him with a mixture of fascination and shock that Crowley supposed was warranted.

“Please,” he ground out, hating himself for it, but willing to crawl on the floor at the other angel’s feet if it would save Aziraphale. “I don’t know how to save him.”

“Well, start by telling me what ails him.”

Sachiel pulled a chair up to the bed and sat beside it, resting his hand carefully on Aziraphale’s forehead.

Crowley swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought this through. Sachiel looked at him then, and for a second Crowley had the distinct feeling of teetering on the edge of a cliff. He felt seen, and it was deeply uncomfortable, not least because his heart was hammering at the thought that the Archangel might discover Crowley’s grace hidden inside Aziraphale. Sachiel must have sensed his discomfort, because he offered Crowley a slight smile.

“Just tell me as much as I need to know, to understand. You have information on me too, remember.”

“He’s lost memories twice, or I thought it was twice. I … I took another from him tonight. Found out since then that he already lost a memory before we started counting. So this was the fourth, and apparently he needs immediate healing, but I can’t. Bloody. Do it.”

“I can do it.” Sachiel looked up at him, his blue eyes grave. “But there will be side effects. And consequences.”

_ For me _ . He didn’t need to add the words, but Crowley heard them anyway. Heaven wouldn’t disapprove of Sachiel helping a fellow angel, but should Gabriel ever find out that angel was Aziraphale … or if anyone upstairs got wind of Crowley being the one to summon him...

“But we shall have to deal with that after,” he continued matter of factly, brushing his fingers over Aziraphale’s temple. “Aziraphale needs help now, not after a debate.”

“So you’ll help him?” Crowley’s instincts were burning with the need to attack, the thunder and screaming of the war in Heaven echoing in his ears despite his patchy memories. But Sachiel had the chance to destroy Crowley, in Hell, and he hadn’t.

Sachiel nodded quickly, then closed his eyes. Crowley paced, his eyes never left Sachiel as he worked, alert to every tiny movement, every breath Aziraphale took. If he could have probed the Archangel’s mind, he would. 

With a hiss, he let his energy spiral in on itself and his body become serpent-shaped once more. At least he could taste emotion and intent in this form. Draping his coils over Aziraphale’s legs, he fixed Sachiel with a stare, and flicked his tongue to explore the air around them. He tasted anger at Crowley for calling him, but also compassion and concern, for both Aziraphale and Crowley.

Several long, tense minutes passed, in which Sachiel focused on Aziraphale, and Crowley fought the urge to bark orders at him to be careful, on pain of Crowley crushing a few bones. Not knowing what Sachiel was doing was worse torture than any Dagon had ever devised. There was nothing Crowley could see, or sense, to tell him what was happening behind Aziraphale’s closed eyes.

After what felt like several millennia, Sachiel sat back, regarding Aziraphale with a worried look.

“I’ve mitigated the immediate damage, but there will be long-term consequences.”

“I know that,” Crowley hissed.

“Quite. I didn’t intend to lecture.”

“What can I … how do I help …?”

“I don’t know. We read the same blessed manuals once upon a time – you know as much as I.”

“Not like I remember much from before,” Crowley snapped.

“Oh … of course, that was insensitive of me. The point is, the manuals simply listed the consequences. Paranoia, hallucinations ...”

“Memory loss, reduction in power. I  _ know _ .”

Sachiel nodded slowly, looking at Aziraphale.

“He’ll probably sleep for a couple of hours. All I can suggest is be gentle with him. There are going to be emotional and mental repercussions from this, but there’s no way to tell what they’ll be.”

Crowley nodded, feeling everything inside him bleeding pain, regret and sorrow, grateful that his serpent’s countenance wasn’t very expressive.

“So, is there a way I can bribe you not to report this?”

Sachiel gave him a long, sad look.

“I have no plans to report you.”

“Why?”

Crowley asked abruptly, moving protectively closer to Aziraphale, dreading how things might be when he woke up yet desperate for it to happen as soon as possible.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Sachiel responded. “Can’t get anything decent in Heaven.”

Crowley sighed as he transformed back into his man-shaped form and headed to the kitchen to pour them a dram of whisky each. He must be losing his mind. But Aziraphale wouldn’t be awake for a couple of hours yet, and any useful information he could glean from Sachiel would be worth a little polite-ish conversation.

“Go on, then. Tell me why you helped us. You’re an Archangel. I assume you could have resisted my call.”

“I assumed if it was serious enough for you to call me back, the situation must be even worse than when I left you in Hell.”

Crowley didn’t answer. He’d long since learned that trust could be misplaced, and he wasn’t about to start trusting someone who wasn’t Aziraphale.

“Why were you in Hell today anyway? Why did Dagon .. how did Dagon … call for you?”

“Sometimes Dagon … she has moments of lucidity. After a fashion. I make a point to visit her as often as I can get away with – not as often as I’d like, really – but sometimes she wakes up and calls me first. Usually when ...”

He trailed off with a slight shake of his head and Crowley didn’t push. But after a few moments, Sachiel looked at him as if sizing him up, and Crowley realised the angel was trying to figure out if he could trust him, too. Huh. It hadn’t occurred to Crowley before that Sachiel might feel as threatened by Crowley as vice versa. After all, Crowley had seen what Heaven was capable of. Crowley could just as easily make Sachiel’s life miserable as vice versa.

“When she regrets,” Sachiel said at last, staring into his whiskey. “When she has a nightmare, or sort of … comes to … in the midst of something … terrible.”

Molten lead filled Crowley’s chest. To tear siblings apart, to leave the angelic one to watch their only true kindred fall into cruelty or insanity … it was unconscionable.

“So she regretted …?”

“Capturing you? Yes. She knew she couldn’t get away with not hurting you at all; she asked me to try and mitigate the effects.”

Crowley silently wondered how many of Dagon’s victims Sachiel had subtly healed, but said nothing. That was too personal, and he wasn’t up for getting that close to anyone. Aside from the perfect celestial being currently sleeping beside him, of course, his mind suffering who knew what torments, because of Crowley. He stroked Aziraphale’s arm, past caring what Sachiel saw, watching his angel sleep.

“Why did you really answer my call?” he asked, the question sounding rather more accusatory than he’d intended.

“Crowley, how could I not? Thus far today, you’ve been abducted, chained up, and tortured, and for what? For loving? Your call felt so pained. It would have been utterly wrong to ignore it.”

Crowley shook his head slowly. The idea that some part in all of Heaven wasn’t as bad as he’d thought was too much in that exact moment. Part of him thought Sachiel must surely be faking, but he remembered how careful he was with him in Hell, and the obvious concern for both Crowley and Aziraphale he’d tasted in his serpent form.

“You really are just that bloody good, aren’t you?” he said, with no real malice. 

Sachiel laughed and knocked back the rest of his whiskey as if it was water.

“I’m as good or bad as the next person. I try and do what I think is right, though I daresay my judgement is skewed at times. One does rather get lost in the celestial connection - Her will can be overwhelming.” He nodded towards Aziraphale. “He seems to resist it quite handsomely.”

Crowley couldn’t help a moment of pride. “He’s far too good for Heaven,” he said softly, getting up and taking Sachiel’s glass. “Look, if I can ever help you sneak into Hell – without endangering myself or Aziraphale, obviously – I will.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Sachiel stood and offered Crowley his hand. To his own surprise, Crowley shook it.

“I cannot say I will always be able to help you. But I will say that if the opportunity comes and I can help, I will.”

Crowley inclined his head in thanks. Then with a sound like waves breaking on an endless stretch of shore, Sachiel was gone.

……

“Crowley?”

It had been a tense hour, waiting for Aziraphale to wake up. Crowley had wondered at points what he’d do if the angel didn’t recognize him or worse, didn’t know they were in love. Find Gabriel and torture him until he agreed to help him, most likely.

“Yes, angel?”

“Crowley, I … my thoughts feel different.” His voice was tight as a wire, and strangely distant, as if he were fighting to hold himself together. “Did someone … was someone in my mind?”

He was growing paler before Crowley’s eyes. In a flurry of movement, Aziraphale sat up and backed against the wall behind the bed, gathering the covers close around himself.

“Who was it? Did you let them? How could you, Crowley!”

“How could I ….?”

Crowley cast around for some explanation as to why Aziraphale was looking at him as if he’d betrayed him to Gabriel, but the only coherent thought he had was how different Aziraphale was. The dread that had lain coiled inside him while the angel slept was awake now and making its way through him, limb by limb, pushing its barbs deep. He was no longer the one his angel trusted and turned to.

Falling had been nothing compared to this.

“You were sick, angel, you needed help and I couldn’t … your mind rejected my demonic energy, it wouldn’t let me heal you ...”

Aziraphale just shook his head, tears leaking from his eyes and leaving shining tracks on his pale skin.

“Gabriel” was all he said. 

Crowley rested his hand tentatively on Aziraphale’s calf, and was relieved when the angel didn’t automatically bat it away.

“It wasn’t Gabriel,” he said softly. “I would never let him. I’d kill him first.”

Aziraphale nodded, but drew his knees up and curled over so his forehead rested on them, quiet sobs shaking his body. Stricken, Crowley reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Aziraphale? It wasn’t Gabriel. It was another angel… a-a friend. I can explain. Please let me explain.”

“When he. In the tavern, when he. It was so humiliating, the way he sneered at everything he saw, the way he forced me to show him everything, everything we’d done, Crowley, the way you touched me, how I felt ...”

“But he doesn’t remember that now,” Crowley offered, hoping it would help, and realizing at once that it hadn’t, as Aziraphale began to cry harder. 

When the angel finally looked up, he barely saw Crowley, his gaze faraway. “It hurt,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stop him.”

He was trembling violently now.

“Is he here?” Aziraphale turned to Crowley with a look of terror. “Is he back? Is he going to do it again?”

“No … no, angel.”

Crowley moved to sit beside Aziraphale, opening his arms to offer an embrace and sighing with relief when Aziraphale curled against him. Rocking his angel gently, he called forth his wings so he could wrap them around Aziraphale as he babbled at the angel in soothing tones. 

“He’s not here now. He’s gone. Just you and me here. He’s not here. You’re with me.”

Aziraphale relaxed minutely, though his breath was still hitching here and there, so Crowley continued murmuring a string of reassurances.

“You’re safe with me. No one is going to hurt you now.” He looked around the room for something to pull Aziraphale back to the present, for it was clear from his wild eyes and the way he clutched at Crowley that he was sinking in memories of Gabriel violating his thoughts in the most intimate and horrible way. “Listen to the fire,” he offered desperately. “Just focus on that, and on me holding you. Just those things. Nothing else. Maybe … maybe try counting backwards from twenty or … or … counting the feathers in my wings, just try and focus your mind here.”

When Aziraphale’s breathing had settled and he was tucked tightly into Crowley’s wing, the demon risked broaching the subject.

“You … you were hurt. You were hurt and I couldn’t make it better. I had to ask for help. I couldn’t leave you injured.”

“Hurt how?”

Aziraphale looked up at him. There was a hardness round his eyes and Crowley wanted to weep. Ever since Mesopotamia the angel had looked at him with such trust, as if he sensed deep down that he could trust him, even if he didn’t recall the kiss in the cave. Now, despite the way he stroked his black feathers and pressed into his hold, he was looking at Crowley like he was a stranger, like he might be capable of being careless with him.

Every torment Dagon had inflicted on Crowley was a mere tickle in comparison to the pain he now felt ravaging every vein, every filament of his energy.

“Tell me what happened,” Aziraphale said flatly, when Crowley wasn’t forthcoming.

“What do you remember?” Crowley countered, wincing at the way the angel glared at him but unwilling to divulge more than he had to.

“We were in the château … you vanished. I could only sense a Hellish presence, not Heavenly, so I knew where you’d gone. I … I tried to follow at once, but.”

Crowley understood. Angels couldn’t just wander into Hell.

“It occurred to me that I might be able to use my shard of your energy to disguise me, let me get inside. It took a few goes, I’m afraid.” he looked up at Crowley with concern, his expression softening. “But in the end, it worked. I found you … I think. Then I just recall the most terrible pain in my head. I think I collapsed. And here we are.”

Crowley reached up and stroked the angel’s cheek. His heart was stopping and starting as if forgetting how to work. What if this was it? The moment when he lost Aziraphale’s trust … his love … forever? Aziraphale reached up and pressed his hand over Crowley’s, holding it there.

“Crowley, love, whatever happened, I’m still yours.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Sometimes. I’m upset, yes, but my love is yours to keep. Help me understand what happened.”

“You found me, as you said. But there was … you were … it seemed very likely that you were about to remember the thing that you mustn’t remember, so I … I ...”

“You stopped the memory before it could come back?”

Crowley only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Aziraphale drew a breath in as if he might say something, but after a tense pause, he only sighed heavily.

“You must have had good reason.” He didn’t add  _ I suppose _ , but Crowley heard it as clearly as if he’d branded the words across the demon’s skin. And it burned just as badly. “But that’s three times, Crowley ….”

Crowley nodded again, suddenly unable to form coherent words. Would telling him that it was actually the fourth time be better, or worse? And how could he tell the angel that this was his life now, that this level of paranoia and fear and distrust was most likely what he had to look forward to? And worst of all, that it was by Crowley’s hand? Aziraphale was looking at him with worry, and fear, and no small measure of annoyance, and Crowley was quite certain this was going to be how he finally perished. Not in Hellfire or in Holy Water, but in seeing his angel lose his trust in him.

“I should sleep,” Aziraphale said at last. “I am still exhausted and I suppose it will take a while to heal. May I stay here?”

“Of course, angel. You don’t ever have to ask.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale leaned up and gave him a brief kiss. “Not to worry. I’m sure things will look better by the morning.”

He didn’t believe it. Neither of them did. As Aziraphale curled up on his side, Crowley curved protectively around the angel’s back. A sudden memory flared in his mind, of the angel completely undone and open and utterly his as Crowley, snake-formed, twined around and into him, fitting them together in body, and soul. Aziraphale was already asleep, leaving Crowley free to bury his face against the angel’s back and let his tears fall like rain that would never find ground.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Dagon is actually the name of a God associated with fish. In the New Age movement, Sachiel is popularly thought of as the Archangel of water, which is why I chose his name when deciding on a sibling for her.
> 
> I'm currently working on a Mini Bang fic (so excited!!!) so updates might slow a bit till mid July, though I do plan to keep working on GLS too. Don't worry - I'll be back!
> 
> Meantime why not check out some of my other fics. So, what are you in the mood for now?
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> More true!form deliciousness, featuring a cosmic meet-cute between a star-creating Throne and a gentle Principality? Check out [Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903).
> 
> Sweet post-canon Tadfield adventure, featuring an ensemble cast, a little magical summoning, Tracy finding her place in the world, and Crowley being good with kids? Try [Darksome Night and Shining Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579987).
> 
> A little gentle emotional hurt/comfort, featuring a loving Aziraphale helping Crowley through his trauma from the burning bookshop, and guest appearances from Madam Tracy and Anathema? [In These Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623877) could be just right for you.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	16. For The Heart I Once Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aziraphale's memories and power fading in and out, the angel reaches a drastic decision. Is staying together too dangerous after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I didn't abandon GLS - I wouldn't! But I've been away writing a multi chapter [human and fallen Guardian angel AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182472/) for the Do It With Style Events mini bang!
> 
> Thank you as always to my dear beta [ Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) for her brilliant edits and managing to make this chapter even sadder, somehow.
> 
> This chapter definitely earned me my CEO of angst title. I'm sorry for your heart *points desperately to the eventual happy ending tag and offers you cookies*

London, 1862

Asking for holy water out of the blue like that hadn’t been his best idea, in hindsight. Crowley should have known the angel would prevaricate around the subject, accidentally insult him, and refuse to discuss it further. Aziraphale was getting increasingly anxious as the years passed, and the result was usually an unmeant insult or a quick withdrawal from Crowley’s company.

Bless it all, why couldn’t Aziraphale see that Crowley needed to protect them any and every way he could?

It had been nearly a century since the Bastille. Most of the time things were as they’d always been. Most of the time. But every so often the angel’s bright mind would flicker and dim like a dying candle. He’d forget a vital detail of his life, or his eyes would widen in terror as paranoia overtook him.

Once or twice it had seemed, for just a fleeting second, that he didn’t recall why Crowley was by his side. How in love they were, the things they’d suffered for one another. Those moments were too painful to withstand, and so Crowley buried them as deep as he could and tried to focus on the only thing he had control over – protecting Aziraphale as best he could.

When Aziraphale was at his most lucid, they experimented with using their bond to protect them, as it had in the tavern all those years ago. The results were hit and miss at best – the more tenuous Aziraphale’s grip on reality became, the harder it was to do such intricate energy work.

Crowley groaned and sprawled bonelessly in his throne-like chair. Last time they’d seen each other, Aziraphale had been a little fuzzy round the edges, as he called it. Crowley had panicked and asked for the holy water as protection, because seeing Aziraphale that way frightened him. Why hadn’t he at least had the sense to wait till Aziraphale was less scattered, so he could reason with him?

He had to go to him. He couldn’t let the argument come between them.

The bookshop looked completely ordinary at first sight. Just an elegant little building on a SoHo corner, with a heavy dose of both demonic and angelic protection. The sign was turned to closed – perfectly normal for any afternoon after three o’clock. But something was tugging at Crowley’s insides and dragging him in through the doors as if all the hounds of Hell were after him.

Slamming the door behind him, he immediately let his fangs lengthen and scales start appearing on his body, just in case there was a purple-eyed blackguard of an Archangel ripe for the crushing. A quick scan told him there were no other entities present, heavenly or hellish. There was only Aziraphale.

“Angel?”

“I’ll be right there.”

As if Crowley was going to stand there and wait to find out why the angel felt so upset. He hurried into the backroom, where he found Aziraphale sitting on the well-worn sofa. He had a stack of books in his hands and several more on the floor around him, as if he’d tried to build himself a fortification of books. He was running his thumb over the spines, and staring at the books as if they’d done him a great injury.

“Oh. Crowley.”

His voice had the flat tone Crowley was quickly coming to associate with his lapses in memory, power, and more and more often, affection. It was clear from the way Aziraphale looked at him sometimes that he remembered their ordinary interactions, but not the moments of connection deep enough to meld their souls together permanently.

So far, Crowley hadn’t succeeded in storming Heaven to demand Gabriel fully explain himself, and tell him how to help Aziraphale. For the most part, he handled those moments by gentling Aziraphale through them, then retreating to his house to drink himself into a stupor and sleep for a week. Despite passing out so deeply that only Aziraphale’s call could possibly wake him, he always came round to find his pillows drenched in tears, as if he’d spent the entire week sobbing in his sleep.

“Something wrong?” Crowley tried to sound casual as he sat down on the sofa, careful not to disturb any of the books. Lucid or not, upsetting the books was a fast way to get on Aziraphale’s bad side.

“I can’t seem to recall my usually shelving system for these.”

Crowley bit back the genuine question of, you have a system? For nothing in the glorious chaos of the bookshop hinted at one. Thinking about it now, though, of course the angel must have one, or how would he have the excellent knowledge of his catalogue that he’d repeatedly demonstrated?

Aziraphale turned to him then, and though his gaze was faraway, he seemed to immediately recognise Crowley as not only his compatriot on earth, but also as his lover.

“Ah. Hello, darling.”

He brightened a bit, though Crowley could see his eyes were wet with tears of frustration.

“Tea?” he offered, setting down the book he’d been holding.

“Let me, angel.”

Without brooking further argument, Crowley made his way to the tiny kitchen and found the stash of Earl Grey. Aziraphale always insisted that miracled tea just wasn’t the same, so Crowley painstakingly made it the human way. Aziraphale accepted the proffered tea with a grateful smile.

“I could shelve the books,” Crowley offered. “I could figure out the system if you give me a few pointers – even if you don’t,” he added quickly, seeing the angel’s look of distress. “I promise I won’t shelve Austen in the cookery section or Dante in with the prophecies.”

“Dante might appreciate that,” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do that, darling. I’ll do it as soon as I … when my mind is working right once more. I’m likely just overtired.”

“S’no trouble,” Crowley muttered as he got up, glad of something, anything, he could do to help Aziraphale. 

The shelving system turned out to be a lot more intuitive and sensible than Crowley had anticipated. Aziraphale seemed quite content with his tea, especially when a second foray to the kitchen turned up some shortbread to go with it, and so Crowley took his time over the shelving, learning as much about the bookshop as he could, filing away information so he could lend a hand in future if need be.

When he’d finished, he sat down on the sofa beside Aziraphale. The angel turned to him, his brow creased with worry. 

“How could I forget something so fundamental? Crowley, I … I don’t know how to live like this. How am I to protect myself from Gabriel, thus encumbered?”

He paused for a moment, his eyes widening.

“That’s why you wanted the holy water. Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley shook his head, not entirely trusting himself to speak. Looking at the angel’s pained expression, he knew the time had come. Aziraphale at least deserved to understand why he felt this way.

“Just want to keep you safe, any way I can,” he started, then stopped, the words turning to stone.

Aziraphale nodded, drawing Crowley’s hand down so he could hold it.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Crowley. I know you. What is it?”

“Angel, do you … do you remember the day you rescued me from Hell?”

“How could I forget?” As soon as the words were out, Aziraphale laughed, a hollow and bitter laugh. “Silly question. I could forget anything these days, it seems. But yes, dear, I recall. I was in a great deal of pain when I eventually came round.”

“And I told you that you’d actually lost memories three times.”

“Which is why sometimes I barely know my own name, yes.”

Crowley took his tinted glasses off, desperate for the angel to see his sincerity, his pain, as he spoke the next words, lifting Aziraphale’s hand and holding it as if the angel might break.

“I lied to you, angel. I mean … not exactly a lie … more an … an omission.”

“So I didn’t lose my memories three times? What on earth is wrong with me then, Crowley? What happened in Hell?”

Crowley had the sudden sensation that he was in the centre of a dark, dank storeroom, whose walls were pressing closer to him at every second.

“It wasn’t three, no. It was four. That’s .. that’s why you … why it’s so hard, I. M’sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him with an expression as if Crowley had just ripped his heart out and stamped on it. Which was exactly how Crowley felt, though he could no longer tell whose heart was being trampled the most. Everything inside him burned as if it were being branded.

“Four,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “How … when?”

“Gabriel was there, in Hell,” Crowley ventured carefully. “Just after you arrived.”

He could see Aziraphale’s light dimming. For a wild moment, he wondered if they would finally be free were he to find Gabriel and finish the job this time.

“He told me that you’d lost your memory once before, that neither of us knew about. He … it was after I’d already stopped the one that was trying to surface … I didn’t know before I did it, I swear.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale moved a bit closer. “What choice would you have had, even if you’d known? It was that or let me remember. There was no right choice. Only bad and worse, and blessed if I know which was which.”

Crowley didn’t know either, and so said nothing. When Aziraphale dropped his head to Crowley’s shoulder, he buried his fingers in the soft snowy hair and held his angel as close as he dared.

“That means he knows things about me that I do not, at best. At worst, he was the one to take my memory.”

“Surely even Gabriel wouldn’t ….” Crowley began, but then he remembered seeing Aziraphale pinioned to the bed by daggers and realised that of course he would.

Aziraphale took hold of the lapel of Crowley’s frock coat, clinging to it as if it could moor him.

“What are we going to do, Crowley? Could we … could we call Sachiel?”

Crowley had told Aziraphale that part of the story the night after the healing. Although Aziraphale hadn’t met Sachiel in Heaven, he was glad to have an unseen ally.

“I … I don’t think so, angel. He’s putting himself at risk if he helps us, and I’m not sure what he could do. He already healed you as much as he can.”

Aziraphale just nodded against his shoulder. 

“Tell me,” he said after a long moment of silence.

“Tell you what, angel?”

“Tell me the thing I’m not supposed to remember.”

“Aziraphale, you know I can’t. You know...Please don’t ask this of me.”

Aziraphale drew back at that, standing up to pace around the small back room.

“Crowley, you must. I insist upon this point. I am already losing my mind as it is, but I don’t understand why, or what was so great a secret that you saw fit to sacrifice my sanity.”

Crowley stared at the angel. At his angel. At the man who’d risked everything for one night with him, who’d gone to such lengths to protect him the morning after, who’d held him and wanted him even in his most demonic form.

He was determined to learn the new, spikier shape of their relationship that was the result of the damage Aziraphale had sustained – that Crowley had caused him to sustain – but it would take him a few more centuries to build up even a thin veneer of protection against this.

“Angel, I … I didn’t. I couldn’t. If Gabriel knew, if he knew what you’d … he could kill you. He would kill you. At least, try to. And what if something happened, what if he found a way to neutralise me, what if I couldn’t save you, if I couldn’t … if you died ….”

“And yet you were able to stop the memory, knowing what it would do to me. How could it possibly have been worse than this, Crowley? You’ve condemned me to a living death as surely as if you’d condemned me to his hands.”

“As surely as if I’d ….”

Crowley couldn’t say more, choking on the words that were trying to come out. He’d thought he was used to Aziraphale’s whip-fast perspective shifts when the pressure in his mind got too much. But that one cut him to his core. They’d been so close. He’d been so close to having everything he’d ever wanted since Eden, since before Eden, and now there was nothing left but the shattered remains of his heart. He was angry, so angry, with God and Gabriel and Heaven and Hell and even Aziraphale.

“Do you want us to … to stop trying to be together, angel?”

He asked it as softly and openly as he could, despite his throat bleeding with every jagged word.

Aziraphale stopped pacing and gazed at him then, with a look that was so steady and contemplative, and yet so lost and haunted, that Crowley wanted to cry.

“Yes.”

If he’d ever known happiness or joy or hope, Crowley forgot all of it in that instant. It felt as if he’d been born in the pain of this moment, and never known anything else. When Aziraphale sat down and took both of Crowley’s hands in his, he had to fight the urge to yank them out of the angel’s grasp. But how could he when this might be the last time Aziraphale let Crowley touch him?

“Aziraphale ...” It was so hoarse and broken as to be unintelligible.

“You asked,” Aziraphale said as Crowley choked back the deluge of tears he had no Ark to weather. He didn’t want Aziraphale to see. He couldn’t offer him an out, and then make him feel guilty for taking it. 

The thought, ugly and violent, crossed his mind that it was as well Aziraphale hadn’t given him the holy water after all, for in that moment the temptation to use it would have been strong. Not that he would. Not that he would ever leave this plane willingly while Aziraphale lived. But Aziraphale’s words flayed his very core, leaving it even more raw and exposed than after the Fall.

Aziraphale’s tenderness made it all worse. Damn it, couldn’t he at least have the decency to stay angry at Crowley for taking the memory, for lying? At least give a demon the dignity of feeling that he’d earned this somehow, that he deserved to have his heart shredded into tiny bits and each part dipped in holy water until there was nothing left. But no, no the angel had to look at him like that, like Crowley was all he’d ever wanted and saying goodbye was tearing him apart. He had to give Crowley hope that he didn’t mean it, that it was worth pleading with him to take the words back.

“Aziraphale … are you …. are you sure, I ....”

Crowley slid to the floor as he spoke, kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet and pressing his face against the angel’s thigh, unable to keep from weeping as Aziraphale stroked his hair. Heartbreak spilled from the angel such that Crowley could taste it even in his human-shaped form, track it as it crawled across the floor and climbed up the walls.

“Crowley, how can we keep doing this? Do you think I don’t see the way you hurt every time I forget what we are to each other? I never understand at the time, but afterwards I do, and all I can think of then is that I’ve just smashed your heart to pieces.”

Aziraphale trailed his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and the demon unthinkingly leaned into it, desperate for any touch he could get.

“I died, Crowley, and you were so gravely injured, and then you were tortured … they’ll never stop, my love. They’ll never leave us in peace. And now I have not even the cognitive function to think my way through it. How can I stay with you, knowing the risks? How can I risk you getting wounded, or worse?”

Crowley shook his head, shackling himself to the angel’s leg as if to physically stop him leaving.

“You can’t let me go,” he stuttered, “in the tavern, you said you can’t let me go.”

Guilt stabbed through him. Using Aziraphale’s words of love against him seemed too injurious to forgive. Aziraphale didn’t admonish him, but he didn’t speak for a long time, and Crowley was afraid to say anything else in case his next words were the ones that broke the fragile connection he could still feel between them. When Aziraphale finally spoke, his voice was utterly broken.

“I didn’t know then that I would be repeatedly causing you harm. Nor did I know that our love would lead to you being abducted and tortured.”

“You can’t let that … Angel, Hell has punished me plenty of times.”

As soon as the words were out, Crowley knew they were the wrong ones to say. He looked up at Aziraphale to find the angel’s face streaked with tears.

“We can’t give up,” he whispered, his hands shaking as he reached up to clutch at Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He was weeping in earnest now, half wild with fear, moving to sit beside Aziraphale and touch his face and hair and lips as if he could memorize them, as if such faint ghosts could ever sustain him. “I can’t.” He said at last, all his walls torn down to leave only the rubble.

“I know you can’t tell me the memory.” Aziraphale said in a voice so quiet Crowley had to strain to hear the words. “I should never have asked you, and I am sorry.”

“Please, let us try to work this out. There must be something we can do,” Crowley said, struggling to keep his voice somewhat even.

“Crowley, I ….”

“Angel,” he whispered, taking hold of both Aziraphale’s hands as if he could stop him flying away. “Stay with me, stay with me, Aziraphale please, I can’t … you mustn’t … you can’t go.”

“I need some time, Crowley, my love, my only. I need to work out the safest way forward.”

Crowley couldn’t respond, incapable of coherent speech beyond saying the angel’s name over and over.

“We can work it out together. We always have,” he managed at last.

“With my mind the way it is now, there’s very little chance I’d be able to stand up to Gabriel if he decides to … to violate me, again. Crowley, he’ll kill you. I can’t … I can’t stay with you like this, knowing the stakes. I need more, I need to do more, to learn more. I have to protect us both.”

“We have a much better chance of staying safe together.”

“Come now, Crowley. We both know that’s not true.”

Aziraphale curled his fingers under Crowley’s chin then, and raised the demon’s head so he could look into his eyes.

“I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. I will love you until after the last star you hung goes out. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of every moment I’ve been allowed to kiss you, to hold you and touch you and know you in the most intimate of ways. This isn’t goodbye.”

He paused, gazing fiercely at Crowley as if he could somehow push the thoughts into his mind.

“This isn’t goodbye. It’s just goodbye for now.”

“If you think I’ll let you say goodbye, you’re insane.”

Aziraphale shrunk into himself at that, and Crowley wished he could take the careless words back.

“I fear that’s a large part of the problem. I’m not sane enough to keep myself from being a liability. Please, Crowley, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“But you weren’t even … until I said … you weren’t.”

The silence said more than Aziraphale ever could.

“You were already thinking of leaving me.”

Crowley didn’t know his voice could sound so devastated. When Aziraphale spoke again, he sounded just as destroyed.

“Just … just of waiting until we can make it safer.”

“And if we can’t?”

Crowley regretted the question as soon as the words were out, closing his eyes and preparing for the inevitable, “then we’ll never be together.” But there was no response, and he opened his eyes to find Aziraphale looking at him with an expression that was almost a smile.

“Then we will simply have to take our chances and most likely both die at Gabriel’s hands.”

“He’ll be dead before he can touch you.”

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out to caress Crowley’s cheek.

“I cannot conceive of forever without you.”

“Hardly helps, angel, but I’ll take it.”

Aziraphale looked down at that, tears sparkling on his white eyelashes. “You shouldn’t have to just take whatever I give you. It’s not right. None of this is right, Crowley.”

“Don’t you dare.” Crowley moved closer and tilted Aziraphale’s face to his. “You have given me so much love, and loyalty, and courage.”

You saved me, he thought. And I can’t tell you what you did for me …

“Of course I’ll take whatever you give me, idiot angel. I’m irrevocably in love with you.”

Crowley wanted to scream and beg and grab Aziraphale tight and refuse to let go. He wanted to fold him in his wings and hide him till time ran out. But the last thing his angel needed was someone else in his life pushing him around, forcing him to do their bidding. He needed love, and only love. So Crowley took a deep breath and did the hardest thing he’d ever done – the only thing he knew how to do – support Aziraphale.

“Tell me how you’ll stay safe without me, angel.”

Of course he would still watch over Aziraphale and be there at the first sign of trouble. But if he couldn’t literally be beside him, he needed to know the plan. Aziraphale’s attempt at a smile was so bitter Crowley could almost taste it.

“Staying away from you will keep me safe. We both know that’s what gets Gabriel’s wings in a knot.”

“But he’ll still … he might still...”

Crowley couldn’t repress a shudder at the memory of Aziraphale’s badly-healed wings just after the Bastille.

“You couldn’t prevent that anyway, love. What takes place in Heaven is out of your hands.”

The silence stretched on then, thin and quiet and sad. Then they both spoke at the same time, both asking the one question they couldn’t hold back.

“Will you wait for me, Crowley?”

“Can I kiss you one last time, angel?”

“Always.” Crowley said fiercely, just as Aziraphale whispered, “Please.”

So Crowley seized Aziraphale’s face in his hands as if he could make the angel feel the depths of his love, while Aziraphale trembled, as if he couldn’t bear for Crowley to let go.

Crowley gazed into the angel’s eyes, memorising each and every shade of blue. He believed that Aziraphale meant to come back, but with all they’d lived through, he couldn’t entirely believe that they would survive to see each other again. 

Letting his eyes drift closed, he leaned forward until their lips touched. And it was so much more difficult than he’d thought. With every brush of the angel’s lips against his, the urge to pull him close and refuse to leave grew stronger and stronger until he was fisting his hands in the angel’s lapels, and then gripping his upper arms bruisingly hard despite the gentleness of the kiss.

“Let me be the one to walk away,” Aziraphale said quietly, his lips still touching Crowley’s. “At least let me take that responsibility from you.”

Crowley’s “no” was barely more than a suggestion of anguish in the still air, as Aziraphale got up and left before Crowley could open his eyes. He sat in the silence for a long time after, afraid to open his eyes and find out what the world looked like when he could no longer call Aziraphale his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are fuel for hungry authors! I love hearing what you think, and what made you feel things ♥
> 
> The next two chapters are already drafted and soon to be edited. Be sure to subscribe to be the first to know when the next one drops!
> 
> **Behind the scenes notes**
> 
> I didn't plan for him to say yes to THAT. I was so shocked that my partner caught me crying in front of my laptop. When they inquired what was wrong, I waved my hand vaguely at the screen and wailed "Ghost Love Score." Their response? "I'll make you tea." I am a) Aziraphale, and b) lucky.
> 
> Because this fic turned out far longer than I thought, I've occasionally been sneaking in lyrics from other Nightwish songs. The Heart I Once Had is, in my opinion, one of the saddest songs they've written to date.
> 
> **In the mood for more fic?**
> 
> I have plenty to choose from! How about:
> 
> More sweet sweet angst, set in King Arthur’s court and featuring a darker Crowley and an Aziraphale who loves him? You want Heavensbloom.
> 
> Spicy and romantic Victorian AU, featuring a human Aziraphale who can see angels, and his fallen Guardian angel Crowley, including gorgeous collaborative art? Check out  Aurency.
> 
> Sweet gentle bite-sized fluff? You’ll love my short and sweet (500 words or less per piece) Bingo Kisses series.
> 
> Delicious pining with a happy ending, featuring an account of Crowley's fall and some true!form sex? Try [The Heart Asks Pleasure First](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352145).
> 
> Post canon love confessions and Aziraphale appreciating Crowley’s snake form (and yes I mean appreciating in the Biblical sense)? You want  Concupiscence.
> 
> In the mood for something longer, featuring a long slow burn, stolen kisses, and so much angst and fluff and sweetness you might need to watch your blood sugar? Dive into [All The Seasons Of My Heart.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) \- I'm always up for talking about Good Omens!


	17. The Old Sin of Adam and Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel realises Aziraphale has received help from another angelic source. Consumed with rage, he's determined to make someone pay.

Gabriel was frustrated. His plans thus far were not going well. Getting Crowley sent back to Hell should have been such an easy fix, a simple way to get his brother out of his hair for a while.

Instead, he’d found himself nursing broken bones, and suffering the after-effects of Crowley’s venom. For the first few weeks, Gabriel’s body had forgotten it was a celestial temple, not to be sullied, and acted like a human body that had indulged in too much morphine and then abruptly stopped taking the drug. He’d struggled to hide his shaking hands and clammy skin. Michael had actually pulled him aside and asked if he was ok, and if he needed her to take over any of his duties.

Gabriel did not accept pity from anyone. He was head Archangel, after all, and it was his duty to uphold Heavenly law and remain stoic at all times.

Only Azraniel - Crowley, dammit - could mess that up quite so spectacularly.

Once or twice the memory of vile demonic coils crushing him would slam into his mind, the dreadful sound of that hiss reverberating through him. And he would realize anew that Crowley was perfectly capable of killing him.

Well, that was fine. The feeling was entirely mutual. If Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for Crowley, things were worse than Gabriel had thought. He was beginning to fear that Aziraphale was a lost cause after all, especially with how muddled he was likely to become after the fourth - fourth! - memory wipe. 

Four erasures. That was quite unheard of, and truth be told, Gabriel had been bluffing a little when he’d intimated to Crowley that he could help. Healing had hardly been his forte at the best of times, but as an Archangel he had access to at least some healing powers. Certainly more than his disgusting snake of a brother had. 

Gabriel had hardly seen Aziraphale since the Bastille. He’d been sent on a mission to strengthen the growth of capitalism, and it had kept him busy. He hadn’t been happy about it, but the Metatron had not been pleased with his protests, telling him it was not healthy to fixate on Aziraphale and Crowley. 

He assumed the two of them had spent the last century hiding somewhere, or at least pretending to not talk to each other. He’d been lax for far too long while he nursed his injuries and travelled to and from America, doing Her bidding. 

But now he had been granted dispensation to supervise Aziraphale again, and he needed to gauge if Aziraphale could still be turned to the Light. He could have asked Michael or Sandalphon, but he knew they wouldn’t have paid Aziraphale any more attention than strictly necessary. He was just another lowly Principality to them. They had no idea of his potential to be good, to be deserving.

The clothes were about the only decent part of life on this smelly, crowded little planet, Gabriel thought as he adjusted his cloud-grey frock coat and top hat. His ability to sense Crowley and Aziraphale had diminished more than he’d hoped - perhaps it was some lingering effect of Crowley’s venom. 

Eventually he sensed Azirphale’s lightning and sunshine energy somewhere around the Swanson Theatre. Striding forwards, careless of any humans he might happen to knock aside, he impatiently used a miracle to get past the doorman, and find a seat in the dress circle from whence he could see the entire assemblage. He spotted his underling at once, sitting alone at the other end of the dress circle. Gabriel felt a spike of rage, sharp and hot, inside his chest. Even at this distance it was clear something was different.

Who in Heaven’s name had healed Aziraphale? 

Because there was a slight tingle of angelic energy around him, new enough to draw Gabriel’s attention. A traitorous voice inside Gabriel whispered that perhaps he didn’t truly care, so long as someone helped him. After all, hadn’t he told Crowley in no uncertain terms to heal Aziraphale? He wanted him obedient, not broken. But the louder part of himself demanded to know what had happened. Someone in Heaven had the gall to assist its most wayward angel, and Gabriel was going to find out who it was.

Turning on his heel, Gabriel stalked out of the theatre, throwing a spark of heavenly energy into the tinderbox of its wooden frame as he went. Such a lurid, Godless pantomime was surely an affront to God’s will, and the burning of the thing a perfectly justifiable execution of the same. And if a few humans had to enter Heaven or Hell early, well, it was all the same to him. They were all going to perish in the final battle anyway.

Ignoring the screams and panic behind him, Gabriel cast one more miracle, to shield Aziraphale from the flames. Discorporation and re-corporation could put him at risk of further mental degradation, and that would not further Gabriel’s aim of turning him back to the light. That someone had interfered with his plan and healed Aziraphale stuck in his craw, and he strode back towards Heaven with one purpose in mind.

As it turned out, rooting out the traitor was easy. Heaven held records of all summonings, and as he was certain Crowley had taken Aziraphale to earth, he simply had to sift through all summonings at the time Crowley had been abducted to Hell. True summonings were rare, as humans were not competent enough to do them most of the time, and angels tended to visit earth on their own intent, not anyone else’s. Gabriel felt a smile spread across his face. It was time to pay Sachiel a visit.

Sachiel was engrossed in a complicated star chart when Gabriel entered his chambers, hidden away at the top of a narrow staircase, with a view not of earth, but of the stars. The reminder of Crowley before his fall made Gabriel’s stomach churn.

“Gabriel. What can I do for you?”

“I need to check in with you about a recent activity of yours.”

“Oh?” Sachiel carefully rolled up the chart and placed it among the others that lined the walls of his work room. Gabriel was suddenly and powerfully reminded of how well his brother and Sachiel had got on before the schism started forming in Heaven. Sachiel’s obvious affection towards Crowley was far too dangerous - Gabriel could never let one of his Archangels be seen sympathizing with the rebels. It had been a small matter to ensure he didn’t recall his friendship with Crowley, and after the fall Crowley remembered nothing of who he’d known in Heaven.

“Yes.” Gabriel stepped closer, until he had Sachiel trapped against the workbench behind him. He was as tall as Gabriel, and met his eyes easily, with that calm warmth that had always irritated Gabriel so deeply. After the fall Sachiel had been a regular rabble-rouser, agitating those who’d lost siblings into keeping up relationships with them, even when it went against Heaven’s edicts. Gabriel had made several attempts to take him in hand, but he was as defiant as Aziraphale. 

“I hear you were …. Summoned,” he said to Sachiel, his voice thick with menace.

“It happens sometimes.” Sachiel feigned innocence, but he was not fooling Gabriel. 

“Crowley called you. How did he even know how to reach you? Is it because he’s a demon, just like your disgusting sister?”

The blow came so swiftly that all Gabriel knew was a flash of fiery pain across his cheek, and the copper taste of blood as he stumbled into the nearest wall.

“Disgusting?” Sachiel grabbed Gabriel’s lapels and shoved him back against his desk, trapping him.“You know what’s disgusting? Actively preventing those of us who lost siblings from seeing them. Attempting to make us fall too, for the crime of missing our other half. Letting your own brother fall and then erasing his lover’s memory of him. Crowley doesn’t know he’s your brother, does he? Nor that he loved Aziraphale before the fall.”

“So you recall seeing that vile demon and I together. What of it?”

“He has the right to know.”

Something dark and cold twined round Gabriel’s insides like a snake. He’d planned to be magnanimous, to let Sachiel’s outburst go. After all, they’d long since reached a tacit agreement to stay out of each other’s way. He’d thought a miracle restriction, a light bit of wing breaking such as he’d needed to administer in the past, or a sojourn in some filthy poverty-stricken place that would tug at the other Archangel’s ridiculous empathy would do it. 

But that dark rope was strangling any idea of mercy. How dare Sachiel hint that he had knowledge over Gabriel? That he might go as far as to tell Crowley? One wrong move from him could bring down everything Gabriel had been working towards. If Aziraphale knew the truth, would that destroy the thin hope that he might come around one day? He was so obsessed with that blasted demon that this might put him over the edge to where he would refuse to leave his side ever again.

And Gabriel, who had worked for thousands of years to bring Aziraphale back into his … the fold … could not allow that to happen.

“Oh, Sachiel. Have you forgotten? Love leaves you wide open and makes it all too easy for others to reach into your energy.” Gabriel let a tendril of energy slide under the other Archangel’s ribs. “An eye for an eye, isn’t that right? Let’s see how much your love for Crowley and that disgraced Principality of his does for you now.”

Sachiel moved to block the invasion of his energy, but it was too late and they both knew it. Gabriel was fed up of being defied at every turn, and it was time for someone to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey faithful readers! I just want to draw your attention to a couple of tag changes.
> 
> 1\. I changed "non-graphic violence" to "violence" because that seems more apt for the current description level. I also added "aftermath of torture" because, well, that's come up a few times and I'm afraid we're not done with that quite yet.  
2\. Note the addition of the OT3 tag. I'm as surprised as you are. No, it's not with Gabriel! If that's not your thing you might want to hop off this train, but I hope you won't, because I think it's worth it ;-)  
3\. The timeline in GLS is a bit quirky I know! This takes place six months after the end of the last chapter. Sachiel has been more or less minding his own business since he healed Aziraphale after the Bastille - but his actions have caught up with him.


	18. Show Me Myself Without The Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Aziraphale goes to Heaven in search of answers, he discovers answers of a different kind: The consequences Sachiel faced for helping them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning**
> 
> Aftermath of torture, fairly explicitly described. See the end notes for a fuller content note if that would be helpful for you.
> 
> Crowley showing affection to someone who isn't Aziraphale. Not exactly a CW in my mind but I am aware that not everyone would feel comfortable reading it, so again, check the end notes.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) who not only beta'd this wonderfully, but constantly encourages me to be brave and take risks with this fic. Where would I be without you!

**Heaven, Six Months After The Holy Water Argument**

Aziraphale could feel his legs trembling as he ascended the escalator to Heaven. Don’t be such an old silly, he told himself. You’re an angel. Being in Heaven is part of your job.

But Heaven had Gabriel in it, and Aziraphale had somehow managed to avoid him since the Bastille. He assumed Crowley’s attack had given the Archangel something to think about, for he hadn’t so much as peeked round the door of A. Z. Fell and Co since its opening, and on the rare occasions Aziraphale had been called to Heaven, he’d got a handful of instructions from Michael and been left to fulfill them in relative peace. Still, Aziraphale was deeply uneasy. He wasn’t naive enough to think that a tussle, albeit a near-lethal one, with Crowley, was enough to keep Gabriel at bay forever.

He desperately hoped that pushing Crowley away had done something to mollify Gabriel. 

The look in Crowley’s eyes when he’d told him it might be safest if they stopped being together for a while had become the stuff of waking nightmares, haunting Aziraphale at every turn. It had only been six months since that night, and yet it felt longer than all the millennia of his life. He missed Crowley so much it had become a physical ache in his chest, and he worried about him constantly. He’d taken to sleeping as a way of cutting down the amount of time he had to be awake and conscious of what he’d done. Every time he did, he dreamed of Crowley.

Every morning he woke weeping and had to fight the urge to call his demon.

He’d tried everything to get his power back to full strength--stubbornly refusing to give up, despite knowing how impossible it was. He’d experimented with tweaking his own energy, even with trying to power it with Crowley’s grace (though he’d undone that quickly in case it was discovered--pity, too, as it had proven promising.) He’d read every book he had on occult subjects, amnesia, shellshock, even angel lore, despite most human attempts at angelology proving wildly inaccurate.

He’d done everything he could on earth. Now he was heading Heavenward in search of the two things that might be able to help him: Heaven’s library, and Crowley’s friend Sachiel.

Aziraphale had been stunned that suspicious Crowley even had a friend, let alone an angel. But on hearing the story of Sachiel and Dagon, and the help the Archangel had administered to both Crowley and Aziraphale in their hour of need, it would have been inaccurate to refer to him as anything else. 

Aziraphale had been reluctant to ask help of a being who’d clearly assisted them so much already, and at great risk to himself, but Aziraphale was at his wit’s end. He wouldn’t ask Sachiel for direct help, he decided, but he might find out if he could point him in the direction of some kind of solution for his increasing lack of mental acuity, or give him some sort of advice on how to rebuild his strength. Heaven’s sake, he’d be happy if the man could tell him where to hone his fighting skills. Aziraphale was perfectly willing to enter into hand to hand combat with Gabriel, if it would keep Crowley safe.

He would do anything to protect Crowley. Even stay away from him.

Heaven was as austere as ever. Thankfully no one paid Aziraphale much attention as he walked quickly through the corridors, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

His trip to the archive room was both uneventful and unproductive. The bored-looking archivist let him in with nary a glance, leaving him free to search the archive. The stacks contained the sum total of information written about Heaven by its denizens, and thus ran the gamut from long, wordy paeans of praise to endless manuals on everything from proper conduct in meetings to guides for wing grooming. There was even a special section for human writings about Heaven. The collection was extensive, so Aziraphale resigned himself to a long, boring day or two.

It felt like years had passed by the time he finally emerged, bleary eyed from so much reading, and as frustrated as he’d arrived. Nothing in the archive offered up information he didn’t already know about amnesia or memory wipes. There were one or two weighty and ancient books that held the promise of arcane knowledge, but try as he might, Aziraphale couldn’t persuade them to open. Above his pay grade, he supposed, and therefore as much help as a paper hat in a hurricane.

He was wondering where to go next as he walked, struggling to appear as if he had a purpose. Looking purposeful could get you a long way in Heaven – the humans seemed to have inherited the phrase “the devil makes work for idle hands” direct from one of Gabriel’s terrible speeches. He didn’t need a reason to be in Heaven, exactly, but he certainly needed some good excuse on hand, should he get caught.

Aziraphale had become so used to dragging sadness and pain around with him, that at first he didn’t register the pain he was feeling as coming from a source outside of himself. He took a few more steps, pondering which of the smaller libraries and filing cupboards where he might contain some useful information. He’d just settled on the second biggest library when he felt another twinge of pain, and this time he knew for sure it wasn’t his. 

He immediately followed the sensation, unable to walk past when someone was suffering so, and terrified to think what in Heaven could have caused such agony. His furtive steps led him to a small meeting room in a far corner of Heaven. When he attempted to open the door, he felt resistance from inside, but it was weak and easily overcome.

Shutting the door quickly behind him and warding the room as best he could without drawing added attention, Aziraphale took in the scene before him with ever-increasing horror. An angel he’d never seen was slumped on the floor, with a pool of blood oozing out around him. His wings were open and sickeningly misshapen, jagged, bloodied broken bones sticking out from among the feathers like twisted spokes of a wheel. Stripped to the waist, Aziraphale could see the sharp whip marks criss-crossing his back and oozing blood.

“Oh … oh, God.”

Aziraphale rushed to the angel’s side, kneeling in the pool of blood so he could get close enough to touch him.

“Oh please, let me help you, I’m so sorry ….”

“zir’phale?”

Aziraphale agreed that yes, he was, though he was filled with confusion. He couldn’t recall seeing the other angel before. Then he realised...

“Sachiel? What happened? No, I … I can guess.”

The tell-tale destroyed wings hanging uselessly and trailing in the pool of blood were enough of a clue. But it was more brutal than anything Gabriel had ever done to Aziraphale, and he was terrified that neither he nor Sachiel would get out of this alive. He could not leave him though.

“I think … I think I’ll be able to hide you from him more easily in my shop. Unless he’s tracking whether you leave Heaven?”

“He is,” Sachiel rasped out, the words causing him to cough up blood. 

“That blasted ... well, I do have somewhere in Heaven we can hide for a spell … may I move you?”

Sachiel nodded, and the movement set off another fit of coughing that had him vomiting more blood and clutching his obviously broken ribs. Aziraphale knew Gabriel’s pattern enough to know that he wouldn’t bother looking for the other Archangel for a long while. He preferred to exact new punishments on a fresh canvas, and therefore wouldn’t look for Sachiel while he was still injured. Aziraphale had enough experience of dreading the day a scar or injury healed, knowing that Gabriel would be drawn to the clean slate. They had a little bit of time. A miracle to move them would be too noticeable, but Aziraphale’s intended destination wasn’t far.

“Give me a moment,” he told the Archangel gently, before ducking out for a quick reconnaissance mission. “The coast is clear , but we must go now before that changes. I am so sorry, I know this will be hard for you. I will be as gentle as I possibly can.” 

Thus saying, Aziraphale lifted Sachiel as carefully as he could, whispering a hurried apology when the Archangel tried and failed to stifle a scream of pain. Keeping his steps as even as he could, Aziraphale carried him to the tiny room at the end of the corridor.

“I set this place up years ago,” he explained, hoping to keep the other angel calm by talking. “I have had some … uh … disciplinary meetings myself, and I needed a place I could recover. Regain my ability to put on a brave face, as it were. I’ve spent so long adding to the wards that it’s practically invisible.”

“A little at a time, so they don’t notice the change. Clever,” Sachiel commented, his voice shaking, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Aziraphale nodded in response as he placed Sachiel on the soft, oversized bed, designed for an angel whose torn wings needed as much space as possible to spread out without any extra stress. The mattress had a flat person-sized section in the middle, with a gently sloping gradient at either side, at the best angle to support still-healing wings. Sachiel cast him a look of understanding and horror. 

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale.”

The words set him coughing again, blood splattering the mattress.

“Shhh, try not to talk any more just now. Nod or shake your head if you can. May I help you lie down?”

Sachiel nodded. Aziraphale had just succeeded in laying him down gently, when the door of his sanctuary swung open.

“What in Satan’s name?”

Aziraphale looked up, bracing himself for a fight.

Crowley was standing just inside the door, his face even paler than usual, and his mouth set in a hard line. Then he shut the door and strode over to the bed.

“Crowley! You can’t be here, it’s far too dangerous. How did you even know I’m here? What were you thinking!”

“We’re gonna have to talk about that after, angel.” Crowley gave him an apologetic glance, then knelt on the floor beside the bed, where Sachiel’s blood was already pooling as it leaked from his wings, back, and abdomen. “Just tell me - do you reckon those wards will hide me?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Fairly confident of it, yes. We cannot go to the bookshop right now - Gabriel is tracking him.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale for a moment, so many unspoken things in his amber eyes. But they both knew that a moment of crisis was not the time. Crowley tore his gaze from Aziraphale, and reached out to stroke Sachiel’s hair.

“I’m afraid you’re in for a rough few minutes, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart?” Sachiel managed to gasp out.

“I’ll call you a pickled cucumber if it will take your mind off the pain for a moment.” Crowley ghosted his fingers over the Archangel’s cheek, and if the situation hadn’t been so dire, Aziraphale would have smiled to see Crowley so openly affectionate.

“Crowley,” he said softly. “We need to position him so I can try and heal him without putting any pressure on his injuries.”

Crowley nodded, his gaze worried. Aziraphale reached over and squeezed his hand, a brief message. We’re ok. I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you. Crowley’s tiny half-smile told Aziraphale he understood. 

“Well, how about if I just ….”

Crowley narrowed the bed enough that he could straddle it. Aziraphale understood at once, and between them they raised Sachiel to a sitting position with Crowley sitting directly in front of him.

“Crowley is going to hold you steady, is that ok?”

Sachiel managed to nod his head, and Crowley moved even closer, until they were nearly touching. Crowley opened his own wings, holding them at the right height that Sachiel could rest his own against them, keeping them supported. Crowley gingerly put his hands on Sachiel’s sides and guided him to lean against Crowley a little.

“That’s it.” Crowley said gently, leaning forward to kiss Sachiel’s temple. “That’s the way. I’ve got you.”

The slight movement forward aggravated whatever internal injuries Sachiel had, causing him to cough blood, the red droplets splattering onto Crowley.

“‘m sorry,” he choked out, and Crowley shook his head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll send you my cleaning bill.”

Sachiel gave a tiny laugh, which immediately made him flinch and raise his hand to cover his eyes. Aziraphale realised to his sadness that the Archangel was weeping from fear of the pain to come, and trying to hide it. 

“Oh … oh, it’s ok, it’s ok. We’ve got you.” Aziraphale rested his hand very gently on Sachiel’s shoulder. The Archangel was clammy and pale, his eyes clouded and his breathing laboured. Gabriel’s attack had been vicious enough to shake him to the very core of his angelic energy.

“I think to truly heal you, I will need to slip a little of my energy into your core, to help it rebuild. I am sorry … it is a terribly intimate thing to ask but it is the safest way.”

Sachiel nodded weakly, and Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, biting his lip worriedly. After this, Crowley would not be the only one to have seen Aziraphale’s core energy, or forged a connection with it. 

Crowley seemed to understand at once. “Do it, for Someone’s sake. He’s dying.”

“Crowley!”

“Not like he doesn’t know, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Let me just … let me start here.”

Aziraphale hovered his hand an inch above Sachiel’s midsection and started rebuilding his shattered ribs, torn oesophagus, and punctured lungs. 

“I’m sorry …. I’m sorry …” he muttered over again as he worked, not sure if he was apologising that anyone should be thus brutalised, or for the pain he knew he was causing as he carefully knit bones and tissue together. 

Aziraphale worked in tiny increments, guiding the tissues of Sachiel’s body to rebuild a little bit at a time. Crowley held Sachiel as steady as he could. Aziraphale knew he didn’t dare help, lest he leave a trace of demonic energy behind. The Archangel sat still and quiet for the most part, though a low groan of pain escaped him every so often. 

Aziraphale’s mind raced. If they left Sachiel here, he wasn’t entirely confident the other angel would survive. He’d never thought Gabriel capable of murder, but Aziraphale’s experience in the tavern had taught him just how brutal Gabriel could be. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if he could safely take him away either.

Aziraphale took a breath and steadied himself. All of that was a moot point until he could stabilise Sachiel. 

When Sachiel’s injuries were mostly healed, Aziraphale sat back for a moment and surveyed his new charge. He was still a terrible greyish colour, and his lips were painfully cracked. 

“Water might help,” Crowley suggested. Aziraphale nodded and miracled a cup into being, handing it to Crowley who tipped a tiny amount into Sachiel’s mouth.

“You’re so kind,” Sachiel said hoarsely. 

“Well, we met when you were pouring water into my mouth. It’s poetic, really.”

Sachiel almost laughed. Aziraphale caught the tender smile Crowley gave the Archangel - that he would certainly deny if Aziraphale mentioned it - and it warmed the inside of his chest pleasantly. They both deserved such moments of softness and peace. He hated to bring things back to the very painful present, but there was nothing else he could do.

“I … I need to start on your wings next.” Aziraphale bit his lip worriedly. “I’m afraid it … it ...it won’t be pleasant.”

“I know.” Sachiel said quietly. “Aziraphale, please be careful. I know you are hardly in the best health either.”

“I can hardly leave you like this,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I … I’m sorry, get ready …”

He reached out so his hands hovered just over Sachiel’s wings. He wove in as much of his own energy as he could, to prepare the way, but some of the breaks required his touch. Sachiel gave a tight nod of permission. When Aziraphale touched the shattered bones of Sachiels’ wing arches, the Archangel shuddered and an inhuman cry of pain escaped him, scorching Aziraphale’s empathetic heart to ashes. Crowley looked horrified - he’d seen Aziraphale with broken wings, but nothing like this. 

“He’s going to pay for this. Just another thing in the litany of things I’m going to exact revenge on him for,” the demon told Sachiel, carefully curling his fingers under the angel’s chin and guiding him to look Crowley in the eyes. 

“Not your responsibility,” Sachiel said shakily.

“And nor were we yours,” Crowley pointed out. “Aziraphale, I know we can’t risk my energy getting into his, but is there something else I can do? Hunt down Gabriel and kill him, for example?”

“If you so much as move one inch I will pour your good scotch down the drain. You being here is dangerous enough,” Aziraphale said, the truth of the words making him shudder. They had to find a safe way out of there. “The only thing that would ease the pain right now is Holy water …”

“No!” Crowley and Sachiel said in unison, but Aziraphale was already in the corridor and heading purposefully towards the sacred well from which Holy water was drawn.

Why, why did She decree that Holy Water could only be drawn from one well? Aziraphale muttered under his breath as he hastened to the well. On earth it was perfectly acceptable to use a miracle to bless water and turn it holy, but in Heaven one had to gain access to the well, and some of the guardians of it were particularly bloody-minded.

Pointless and nonsensical bureaucracy. That’s what so much of it felt like. And lives at stake for the crime of loving … Aziraphale shook his head, mentally trying to pull himself together. He had to keep his focus.

“Principality Aziraphale.” 

Zaphkiel. Aziraphale tried to repress the urge to take a very human deep breath. He’d met the Archangel a few times and always found them decent enough, if very focused on rules. 

“I need to draw some water from the well - may I?”

“Do you have a request form?”

“No.” Aziraphale gave them what he hoped was a friendly smile. “It’s not official business. I found an ancient Pagan site in Cornwall, a pool up on the moors. Rumours of demons and spriggans abound. I thought perhaps a little holy water, turn it to the good as it were. Especially as there is a monastery nearby, wouldn’t want God’s own to fall afoul of malevolent Cornish spirits.

“Well, I suppose that couldn’t hurt. Better safe than sorry. Clear it with a supervisor next time, though.”

“Of course. Thanks Zaphkiel.”

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Aziraphale let himself breathe again. Picking up one of the ornate containers, he carefully filled it from the shimmering fall of water. Stepping back, he miracled up a small cloth and dried the container thoroughly, then miracled every minute drop from his clothes. He decided to burn them as soon as he got home and get something new, hopefully that looked the same. He couldn’t risk being around Crowley in clothes that had been this close to holy water.

Crowley being too close to holy water was a sore point as it was. The least he could do was take precautions for his demon. With a smile and nod to Zaphkiel, Aziraphale walked away as calmly as he could, trying to hide the way even his legs trembled with nerves.

“That was so reckless.” Crowley hissed as soon as Aziraphale was back in the room. Sachiel appeared to have passed out, slumping forward till his forehead rested on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley was supporting him as best he could.

“I had to, Crowley. You would have done the same.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, then sighed. “Point taken. We have to take him with us, Aziraphale. I know Gabriel’s tracking him, but if we leave him here …”

“Gabriel might kill him. I know.”

“This is because he helped us, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale nodded slightly.

“He reminds me of you,” Crowley said after a moment.

Aziraphale smiled a bit at that. “He is a bit rebellious, which I suppose I was, with the whole flaming sword thing. He’s too good for Heaven,” he added, and Crowley nodded agreement. “But I truly do not know how we can keep him safe. We can hardly keep ourselves safe.”

“I know, angel. Let’s just … let’s just sort his wings out first.”

Aziraphale leaned forward then and gently stroked the back of Sachiel’s shoulder.

“Sachiel? Darling? I need to keep working on your wings.”

“Too dangerous for you both,” Sachiel mumbled as he came back to consciousness, and Aziraphale shushed him gently. “You’re quite stuck with us now, I am afraid. Crowley, you need to leave. You cannot be here while I am using holy water.”

Crowley hesitated, but he clearly realised the truth of Aziraphale’s words. 

“I can’t wait in Heaven. Tell me how long you need to use the holy water for.”

“Twenty minutes should do it.”

“Very well. I am coming back in twenty minutes.”

As soon as he was gone, Aziraphale started working methodically, using a sponge to drip water over the Archangel’s wings, close enough that the drops wouldn’t hurt by falling, but not so close as to touch the sponge to the mangled bones. He privately hoped his wards would keep them safe for a long time, as he suspected there was no quick way to mend Sachiel.

When he’d prepared the Archangel’s wings as much as he could with the holy water, Aziraphale set the bowl and sponge aside.

“I am afraid we’ve reached the point where nothing but me touching them again will do. Do you think you can bear it?”

“Well, you are going to be much gentler than Gabriel, and I survived that, so I dare say I can manage.”

Aziraphale stroked his hair in what he hoped was a reassuring way, then reached out and rested his hands as lightly as he could against Sachiel’s wing arches. The other angel flinched, but nothing like his earlier reactions. Relieved, Aziraphale worked slowly and methodically, carefully setting the poor wings to rights. He miracled a soft cloth to gently dry the holy water, absorbing every last drop to make sure not an atom of it would touch Crowley’s skin, should he touch Sachiel’s wings. Just moments later, Crowley returned.

“We’re going to the bookshop,” he said decisively. “It’s safer than here, and we can ward it enough to keep Gabriel out for now.”

Sachiel glanced between them.

“If I leave, he’ll know.”

Aziraphale touched his arm gently. “If you stay, it could be worse. You’ll have no protection, and if he finds out your injuries are healed …”

Crowley nodded, pacing uncomfortably about the room. “We can try and find somewhere better to hide, but right now we have to get you out of here.”

Sachiel looked between them with deep concern.

“Look,” Crowley said impatiently. “We won’t do anything without your say so, so please say we can take you out of here. He’ll kill you. We can’t let that happen. I can’t let that happen. And honestly we’re already in deep trouble with the purple-eyed bastard, so it’s not like you’ll add much to our worries.”

Sachiel looked like he wanted to say yes, and Aziraphale’s heart ached for him. He knew all too well what it was like in Heaven, how comfort and kindness were considered signs of weakness rather than strength.

“Please,” Aziraphale said, sitting down next to the Archangel and taking his hand. “We can’t leave you. You must know that.”

Sachiel took a shaky breath in, but then nodded, just once. That was obviously all Crowley needed, for the next moment they were in the bookshop. Aziraphale carefully helped Sachiel to the sofa, then turned to Crowley.

“How are we going to stop Gabriel storming the place?”

“Haven’t figured that bit out yet.”

“I … I had, um. I had tried using your grace to strengthen my energy, while we were … were apart, and it did seem to help. I stopped out of fear of getting caught, but as we’re pretty much caught now anyway … could we use that to strengthen the wards?”

“Anything’s worth a try at this stage.”

Aziraphale nodded, suddenly feeling wrong-footed. Seeing Crowley again, hearing his voice, was making his heart race despite everything, and he wanted so much to tell him how sorry he was.

“Crowley, I …”

Crowley strode over to him then and buried his face in his hair. “Angel, my angel, it’s ok. Come on, let’s just … show me that trick you did with my grace.”

Aziraphale did so, then watched as Crowley replicated it, building a spiral of energy that used his grace, Aziraphale’s angelic energy, and a touch of infernal, to weave into the wards.

“That’ll hold for a good couple of days.”

“He might not come,” Sachiel said quietly. “Yes, he’s tracking me, but even he knows this level of brutality is outside Heavenly conventions. There could be consequences for him too, if word got out that he’d snapped and done this.”

“That’s a good point,” Crowley admitted. “He likely would have expected you to hide in some corner of Heaven to heal. Him coming here to storm the residence of Heaven’s representative on earth might be a bridge too far. So the question then becomes how to safely keep you out of Heaven ….”

“Crowley, please. You both have enough to deal with. For now I am happy to have a moment’s respite.”

Sachiel shifted position on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable. Aziraphale sat down next to him and offered his hand. It was a natural gesture, but Aziraphale had never been touched by another angel without violence, and the sensation of Sachiels’ hand in his sent a bolt of celestial lightning through him. For a second, he felt seen and known instead of ridiculed as he usually was, and then instantly felt guilty for finding anything good in such a terrible situation.

“Let me make you some tea,” Aziraphale said softly. “I find it soothes me.”

When he returned, Crowley was sitting beside Sachiel with a protective look. Aziraphale sat down on Sachiel’s other side and brushed his hair back from his damp forehead. The Archangel leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, and suddenly Aziraphale was rocked by a wave of loneliness, a sense of being touch starved since creation. He realised then how much he took Crowley’s touch, his wonderful embrace, for granted.

“It’s ok,” he said softly, brushing the back of his fingers against Sachiel’s cheek and finding it warm, and soft. “It’s ok, let us comfort you. You’ve been through hell, and I don’t choose the word lightly.”

Sachiel only stared at him in response, and Aziraphale realised the Archangel was shaking.

“Has … has anyone ever touched you?”

“Dagon used to hug me. And sometimes still does. And once or twice, Ra - but that was a very long time ago.”

“I forget sometimes,” Aziraphale said softly. “Would you … would you like to be held?”

The look Sachiel gave him was painfully conflicted. Aziraphale moved closer and opened his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, Sachiel leaned forward to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale carefully put his arms around the other angel. As he held Sachiel, he felt a shiver go through the Archangel’s body as he relaxed against Aziraphale with a soft sound of pleasure.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said. “Touch is not encouraged in Heaven, despite it being so healing. Quite the design flaw if you ask me.”

Sachiel nodded, but turned his face away.

“No, please … please don’t hide.”

“Don’t think I’d have got through the last millennia half as well without being able to hold Aziraphale sometimes,” Crowley added. “I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but nothing wrong with wanting a hug.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help a soft laugh at that, and Sachiel seemed to relax too, leaning into Aziraphale. Crowley miracled up some warm water and a cloth, and started carefully bathing the Archangel’s back while Aziraphale held him. When he’d finished, he miracled a blanket and tucked it around Sachiel, moving so the Archangel was held gently between them.

“Oh, that feels good,” Sachiel admitted. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. Let yourself have this.”

Sachiel laughed weakly. “I shall not want to stop, if I let you continue. I could get used to being touched.”

“That is perfectly understandable. Rest for a bit,” he suggested as they both held Sachiel. “Let your body heal. And then we shall discuss our next move.”

“Next move?” Sachiel started. 

Crowley shushed him gently. “Rest first.”

Perhaps Sachiel’s presence had a calming effect, for as the Archangel drifted into sleep between them, Crowley laced his fingers with Aziraphale’s, and for the first time in decades the angel felt truly at peace, and safe. With a quick miracle, Aziraphale moved the three of them to his bed, under a light but warm blanket that wouldn’t put pressure on Sachiel’s injuries. There was no need to speak. The look of adoration Crowley gave him told him that they were going to be ok. There would be time enough for talking, but for that moment there was warmth and peace and the chance to rest together. As Sachiel drifted into sleep, Crowley reached his wing over both the Archangel and Aziraphale. 

“Sleep, angel,” he said softly. “I’ll keep watch over you both.”

Aziraphale tried to protest, to say Crowley needed rest too, but the dark feathers blanketing him were so warm, and he was so relieved to see Crowley again, that sleep overcame him. And the last thing he knew before he lost consciousness was Crowley reaching across Sachiel’s body to stroke Aziraphale’s waist, keeping them both safe and close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning / spoilers**
> 
> Aftermath of torture. Includes:
> 
> Description of badly broken and mangled wings  
Whip marks  
Internal injuries  
Coughing blood  
Healing of above injuries, which is painful for the recipient  
Chapter ends with an escape, but their safety is still very much in the balance
> 
> Also features Crowley being affectionate towards Sachiel. Aziraphale notices, and is pleased by it - no jealousy or possessiveness. 
> 
> I already have the next few chapters written and edited, so hang tight!
> 
> Comments are fuel for hungry authors ♥


	19. The One Behind Will Lead Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Crowley and Azirapaphale make plans to stay safe from Gabriel, Crowley's tired heart decides that some secrets are just too heavy to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/)!

“This seems risky, Crowley.”

Crowley snorted out a laugh. “Angel, tell me what we’ve done that isn’t risky?”

Aziraphale nodded, with that resigned look that made Crowley’s heart hurt.

“Crowley … what if they find out?”

Crowley shrugged, tried to seem nonchalant. “That’s the same question we’ve been asking ourselves for centuries. I think we have a better chance this way. We have to try.”

Aziraphale glanced over at Sachiel, who was sleeping on the couch, curled up on his side. Even in sleep, he looked stressed. He’d tried to insist that he accompany Crowley, who’d had to resort to “you can help Aziraphale better if you stay” tactics to put paid to it. Thanks to Aziraphale’s healing, Sachiel was much better, but he still wasn’t fit to go traipsing across the globe, especially given that he was completely unused to earth.

“I know it was dangerous, helping him …” Aziraphale told Crowley, chewing his lower lip.

“As if you could have just left him. As if I could have. Like it nor not, the three of us are in this together now.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly, and Crowley’s heart foundered in sorrow. Satan, now he had two injured angels to worry about, and why the Hell was upstairs so upset about that? Surely they should be glad that someone was caring for them? But no, they just let Gabriel carry on unhindered, coming after them like a vengeful ghost that they couldn’t exorcise. Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. He would not give up. He would not. Freeing Aziraphale from Heaven’s abuse was not optional. He would find a way. 

And he would find a way to ensure Sachiel could return to Heaven in relative safety. He owed him that much. And much as he loathed Dagon, he didn’t want her to lose her brother.

Maybe they could just keep him. Crowley swallowed down a near-hysterical laugh. As if he was an injured kitten they could just secrete away. He gave a sidelong glance at the sleeping Archangel, and quickly swallowed down all the tenderness the sight of him brought up. One thing at a time.

“Crowley, you … you will be careful?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep Heaven away from you, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well it’s not.” Aziraphale sounded tired and peevish, not that Crowley could blame him. Satan how he missed the angel’s quick wit and bickering. Crowley would have torn out his own grace a thousand times over, if he still had it to give, and if by so doing he could restore Aziraphale’s vitality and cognitive function. Aziraphale looked pale and exhausted, and Crowley wanted desperately to hold him, but he wasn’t at all sure what was allowed at that moment.

“You know me. I’ll always do my best to bamboozle both sides and stay ahead of them. This is no different.”

“This is perfectly different. You’ll be carrying my Grace, and Sachiel’s, and using it on purpose to draw them away from us. If they catch you, Crowley …”

“They won’t catch me, angel. Using your Grace to sneak into Heaven worked beautifully, the door opened for me like a well-oiled hinge, silent as the grave. I’m confident I can do something similar to trick them into thinking they’ve found you, and Sachiel.”

“I don’t know, Crowley … what if it goes wrong?”

Crowley sighed and flopped into the wingback chair, then sat up so he could pick up the coffee pot and pour them each a cup. 

“This is so hard,” Aziraphale said quietly “I feel utterly useless.”

“But you have a task - you and Sachiel need to keep working on how to hide us, and how to recreate that trick you did in Heaven, of slowly changing the energy of a place so they don’t notice. My job is to keep them off your trail while you do.”

“Crowley, you’re going to use our Grace to fool Heaven into thinking we’re not in the bookshop. If Sachiel or I drop the ball on this, we are all cooked. Begging your pardon, but if you drop the ball on this, we are all cooked.”

“Let’s be honest, my love. We’re in trouble either way. And it’s awful, and I hate it too, but I’d far rather be out there doing something. If we try, we have a chance to evade them. Better than being sitting ducks.”

Aziraphale sighed and took a long sip of coffee.

“I know you’re right, but …”

“But it’s hard. I know.”

“Not just hard, Crowley. It’s starting to feel like we’re tangled in an inescapable web, and maybe it would be easier to just surrender to the spider.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he refilled Aziraphale’s cup and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s just try this, angel. See what happens. It’s no more or less dangerous than anything else we’ve done, and it might give us the breakthrough we’ve been desperate for.”

“We … we still haven’t really talked about … about before.”

Crowley put his cup down and took his glasses off. He needed Aziraphale to see the love in his eyes.

“I will always protect you, as long as you will let me. Whether we’re together or not.”

“I love you so much,” Aziraphale said without raising his eyes.

Crowley drew a sharp breath. There was a long silence as Aziraphale stared into the depths of his mug, and Crowley watched him.

“I love you too, angel. Always have.”

“I would never … it was never that I didn’t want you.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t know how much longer I can bear knowing that being together could lead to you being hurt, or worse. I am starting to feel hopeless, Crowley. I know that’s partly my mental exhaustion talking, but I … I …”

Crowley made a shushing gesture, but gently. “I know. I don’t have any answers.”

“Last night, when you took my hand …”

Crowley rested his hand palm up on the table, letting Aziraphale know he was very much open to holding hands again. A smile flickered over Aziraphale’s face as he placed his hand in Crowley’s and squeezed gently.

“I don’t want to leave you, Crowley. But I do need to know there is hope, that being with me will not ultimately destroy you. I would rather be your friend - I would rather be a stranger - and have my heart broken, then see you destroyed and feel my heart die with you.”

Crowley turned Aziraphale’s hand over and gently traced patterns on the palm with his fingertip.

“I understand, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, angel. I’d rip my own guts out with a rusty holy knife before I put you in danger. So, we’ll find a way to make it safer. That’s what we focus on.”

Aziraphale nodded, but didn’t look up. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said softly. “For what happened in Hell, I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale said, raising his eyes, his gaze clear. “Will you ever tell me, Crowley? What it was that was worth risking another memory loss? Even without Gabriel telling you there was one we did not know about, it was still a big risk.”

Crowley gazed at him. His love, his fire on a cold night, the only lighthouse he’d ever want in a storm, and suddenly he was so tired. So tired of hiding. So tired of loving so desperately and Aziraphale not even knowing the whole reason why. His heart felt weighed down with the enormity of it.

“You saved me,” he said simply.

“I don’t follow, my dear.”

“When I fell. You saved me. My wings were ruined and you made them right again. You were so kind and soft with me. You … we kissed, briefly. You took the memory from your own mind to protect us both.” He could feel tears slipping down his cheeks as he spoke. “Aziraphale, I’m sorry, I should have waited … this was wrong …”

“No. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale moved his seat beside Crowley’s, taking his face in both hands. “Tell me. Tell me what happened between us.”

Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath. Nearly said no. Then realised that the truth was out now, and hiding the details would help no one.

“I was hiding in the same room you found me in after Hell tortured me recently. I was so much younger then, so young and in pain and terrified. And you found me. You heard me crying and came to help.”

Aziraphale wiped tears from his own face, but said nothing, merely gestured for Crowley to keep talking.

“You were so gentle,” Crowley told him, trying to communicate something of what he’d felt that day, how Aziraphale’s kindness had touched parts of him and stopped them from dying, helped him retain some of who he was. “You said that it was wrong, that I shouldn't have been forced to fall.”

Aziraphale made a soft sound of pain and leaned forward, kissing Crowley gently. “You didn’t deserve to fall. I’m sorry if I’ve ever … if I ever implied …”

Crowley swallowed hard, forced himself to keep talking. “You seemed sad that you could not stay. You … you kissed me. You kissed me so softly, and called me dear, and you were upset that you would forget me. I … I begged you not to take my memory too. I knew it might be safer, but you were the only good thing left, the last divine touch I would ever know … I couldn’t bear it.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and just squeezed Crowley’s hand so tight.

“You told me I hadn’t completely fallen,” Crowley choked out through his own tears. “Said I’d loved something enough, been connected enough to her creation, to save some part of me. Told you it was the stars. Now I think it was you, which makes no sense, but I do.”

“You told me things that belong together have a way of finding each other,” Aziraphale whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t remember much else, but I remember that. You said ‘I don’t think this is goodbye, angel.’”

“I did.”

Crowley raised Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, holding on as if he’d never let go. 

“And here we are.” Aziraphale smiled a little, then reached out to run his thumb over Crowley’s lower lip. “We did find each other again.”

“I am so sorry you found out like this. It’s too soon, I took your memory in Hell only to tell you anyway, what have I done … angel …”

He dropped Aziraphale’s hand in horror, the true awfulness of what he’d just done hitting him, winding him. All this, everything Aziraphale had suffered since that day in Hell with Gabriel, and all for nothing, he’d told him anyway … 

“No.” Aziraphale interrupted the avalanche of thoughts gently, but firmly. “All these centuries, Crowley, all this time you’ve carried this alone.”

“But … Hell …”

“I confess perhaps it might have been simpler to tell me rather than stop the memory. But Crowley, so much has happened since then. Perhaps that wasn’t the time. Perhaps now is. Oh, who can tell any more? I only know I am tired and I do not want this to become something that stands between us, when it should bring us together.”

Crowley just nodded, still not sure about speaking.

“Now I know where we truly began,” Aziraphale continued. “I know I was brave enough to help you. Do you know how good that feels, to be reminded that I was once so clear and brave about what was right to do?”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, and found himself with a lapful of angel. 

“I know you have to go now,” Aziraphale told him, holding him close. “Let me kiss you first? Let us have this moment. I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too,” he whispered in response, leaning up and drawing Aziraphale down, kissing him softly and slowly. Aziraphale wrapped both arms around him and kissed back with so much love that Crowley felt it brushing through him like a soft melody. “You saved me,” he sighed against the angel’s mouth.

“And you have saved me over and over, so we are quite even,” Aziraphale teased. “Now let us save each other once more - for good, this time. Thank you, Crowley. You have given me the hope I so desperately needed.”

“Not sure how. I’ve told you the one thing that could get us both destroyed.”

“Perhaps. But you’ve also reminded me that I’ve always been willing to risk everything for you, before I truly knew why. You reminded me that you are my fate.”

“You don’t believe in fate,” Crowley reminded him, as Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him again, with a deep reverence that made him shiver. “It’s one of the things that makes you a terrible angel.”

“Mhm, but I do believe we have a bond that cannot be shaken. And now I think perhaps it was forged in Hell all those eons ago.”

“Perhaps.” Crowley was losing his ability to think coherently as Aziraphale kissed him over and over again, tongue swiping Crowley’s lower lip and licking softly into his mouth as their lips met again and again. Aziraphale cupped the back of his neck and leaned their foreheads together.

“Whatever happens, please understand that I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone. If we cannot be together, my love, know that it is because it’s the only way to keep you safe. But let us not focus on that.” He stroked the back of Crowley’s neck tenderly. “Let us focus on finding a way.”

Crowley smiled then, the first genuine smile in what felt like centuries.

“Then I will not despair,” he leaned up and kissed the angel one more time, hands circling his plush waist and holding him close. “I’ll be back as soon as I am sure they’re sufficiently distracted.”

Aziraphale nodded, then took a fortifying breath.

“Farewell, my love. I’ll be waiting for you.”

After a few more lingering kisses, Aziraphale got up so Crowley could leave. Reluctantly, Crowley rose and crossed the room to the door, thinking that it was a hare-brained scheme, but he had hope now, and to his surprise, he felt more dangerous and more capable of beating the odds with hope, than without it. 

He stopped at the door to look back at his angel one last time. Then he slipped out into the night and away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it let me know - comments are brain food for authors!
> 
> **Behind the scenes notes**
> 
> I decided I was going to add 25K to this fic for NaNoWriMo. And so far I'm on track!
> 
> The hurry to get the words out also means freeing up my creative brain - and freeing the characters to do as they will. I hadn't planned for Crowley to leave Aziraphale - that was actually Mira's brilliant idea when I said I wanted to inject some new challenges. And I certainly hadn't planned for him to tell Aziraphale the truth yet. I'd actually written a confession scene several chapters, and centuries, hence, but Crowley had other ideas. And as anyone who has been following me for a while knows, Crowley runs the show!


	20. So Lost In Your Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Crowley away, Aziraphale and Sachiel attempt to ward the bookshop. But the combination of an unexpected visitor, an unexpected delusion, and some very unexpected feelings, takes both angels into uncharted territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever to my amazing beta [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) who not only beta's my work till it's what I wanted it to be, but encourages me to be a braver writer than I would without her ♥
> 
> **Content note**
> 
> If Aziraphale and / or Crowley kissing someone other than the other bothers you, you'll want to step away from this fic now.

**London, 1863**

Time limped by at the bookshop. Every day without Crowley felt so long. In the past it would have been fine - they had spent plenty of time apart. But so much had happened and Aziraphale was afraid for Crowley out there, putting himself in danger.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about what Crowley had told him. Even though the memory that had surfaced as he listened was so ephemeral as to feel like a dream, he felt the truth of it. When he looked back over their life, especially Eden and the very early days, there was a familiarity to Crowley that he had never thought to question. Yet he’d known in Eden that he needed to shelter him.

How reckless, to rush to save a fallen angel. How fortunate that he’d been just brave and stupid enough to try it.

He tried to keep busy. His work with Sachiel was rather interesting, and at least provided some distraction from time’s slow march. Had it not been a matter of life and death, he would have been fascinated. Their task of warding the bookshop was going surprisingly smoothly as they worked well together. They had been experimenting with weaving in tiny bits of Crowley’s grace, well hidden by thickly layered energies.

The fact that Heaven wasn’t breaking down the door was a testament to how well it was going, and despite his high stress levels, Aziraphale felt a little more hopeful than he had in years. Sachiel had a very soothing presence, though he was still weaker than he ought to have been. The more Aziraphale observed his healing process, the more convinced he became that Gabriel had either intended to kill the Archangel, or lost control to the point where he didn’t care whether he destroyed him or not.

Despite the stressful circumstances, they were enjoying getting to know one another. They did not dare go out, but they spent their evenings reading together by lamplight. Sachiel enjoyed hearing poetry and philosophy of all kinds, and he read novels aloud to Aziraphale with a warm, lively cadence that brought the story to life.

He was still quite unfamiliar with earth, and Aziraphale was enjoying teaching him more about it, while they swapped stories from Heaven and commiserated over the stark, cold culture that prevailed there.

Sachiel hardly ever mentioned Dagon, and Aziraphale did not like to pry. In hindsight, he wished he had pried a little more, so as not to be completely shocked when she turned up in the bookshop one night.

Sachiel was upstairs, sorting through a pile of scrolls in hopes of finding useful information. Aziraphale suspected it was an excuse to spend some quiet time categorizing and arranging them. The Archangel seemed rather soothed when organising things. A fellow after his own heart really. For his part, Aziraphale had been soothing himself by dusting the prophecies, which had not truly needed it in centuries as they tended to keep themselves dust-free without his intercession.

“Principality.”

He felt his hackles rise. Then he turned as calmly as he could to find Dagon a mere foot or so away from him. She stood in the gloom of the bookshop--his bookshop--so casually, probably not having the slightest inkling of how seeing a demon that wasn’t his Crowley standing there, turned his nerves to mush. A strange scent, like rotten salt-soaked fish and overheated sand dunes, washed over Aziraphale. Trying to quell the rising panic in his chest, he attempted a small smile.

“Dagon. What can I do for you?”

“Where is my brother?”

“He’s … he’s upstairs.”

An awkward silence descended, during which Dagon picked up a writing quill and stared at it, turning it this way and that as if she’d never seen a feather before. As it seemed to have her attention, Aziraphale sidled to the stairs, pondering whether it was best to call Sachiel’s name, or to slip upstairs and have a very quick word in private. Dagon cast him an almost-amused look. As his senses weren’t picking up any immediate danger, he climbed the stairs quickly and stuck his head in the room where Sachiel was working.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, but Dagon is here.”

Sachiel dropped the scroll he had been examining. 

“Oh, Lord. I didn’t know she could track me so easily. We normally meet in Hell .. she obviously does not come to Heaven, and I do not come to earth.”

“It’s alright .. it’s alright.” Aziraphale walked over and laid a hand on Sachiel’s arm. “Just tell me if there is anything I need to know. I confess myself slightly afraid, for which I am sorry.”

“No … no, I understand, most people would be. She is normally better when she is with me. Indeed, she must be quite lucid to have attempted to find me at all.”

The sadness in his voice broke Aziraphale’s heart. He ushered Sachiel gently downstairs, resolved to be as gentle and non-judgmental as he could.

“Brother.” Dagon’s voice was a monotone, but she opened her arms trustingly to Sachiel, and Aziraphale glanced away, not wanting to intrude on a private moment.

When he looked back, Dagon was wandering around the bookshop, picking things up at random, and putting them down in the wrong place. Stars, he was going to have some tidying to do later, but she did not seem intent on hurting him. Aziraphale watched her curiously for a while, before it occurred to him that he was being insufferably rude. Didn’t she deserve the same consideration as anyone else? 

“Dagon, would you like some tea?”

The demon looked at him in surprise, strange metallic blue eyes widening a little. Aziraphale could sense her aura of unhinged danger. Thankfully it was not directed at him.

“Th - thank you,” she said, the words stilted, as if she didn’t know how to speak the sentiment. 

Aziraphale nodded and bustled to the kitchen, setting the leaves to steep. He wondered for a wild moment if he should offer her lemon, sugar, or milk, so he decided on all three, before taking the teatray through. 

Dagon had kept busy examining everything that caught her eye. As Aziapahale watched, quite at a loss for how to proceed, she picked up a globe and trailed a long fingernail over it, causing the surface to shimmer and move as if it were alive. Then she started trailing her nails over the spines of the books, occasionally tutting at them as if she didn’t approve of their contents.

Eventually she sat down on the couch beside Sachiel and drank five cups of tea in rapid succession - one with lemon, one with milk, one with sugar, and two with all three plus a hefty slug of whisky from a flask she produced from her coat pocket.

“Someone hurt you,” she said to her brother, without preamble. “Felt it.”

Aziraphale winced. The thought of being so close to someone as to feel their pain … he wondered if Sachiel felt her pain too, for surely being a demon must hurt, Crowley had said as much once …

“Yes. But Aziraphale and Crowley healed me.”

“Who hurt you?” Dagon’s eyes were colder than frozen metal, and Aziraphale thought for a wild moment that if Sachiel told her the truth, Gabriel might cease to be a threat very very soon. But when Sachiel told her, she subsided slightly with a slight nod.

“Does anyone know you are here?” Sachiel asked her and she shrugged. 

“Lord Beelzebub does not track me. I am busy … my duties are in Hell. So long as they get done, no one cares.”

Aziraphale believed her. He’d seen Crowley, who was lower ranked than Dagon, get away with all manner of things, so long as he was seen to be doing something. His main concern then was not whether she would get caught, but how she got through the wards.

“You didn’t ward demons,” she told Aziraphale, as if she knew what he’d been thinking, which was a terrifying thought. She was right … they hadn’t.

“Maybe better to,” she added. “Remember what Hell did to Crowley … big oversight.”

It was. He couldn’t deny that. They would have to make adjustments. The three of them lapsed into silence. 

“I miss you,” she said suddenly, with such lucidity that Aziraphale was taken aback. Going by his expression, Sachiel was too. 

“I miss you too,” he told his sister with infinite tenderness, carefully drawing her into his arms. She went willingly, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest. For a moment she looked so peaceful that Aziraphale could see who she must have been as an angel. Who she still was, when her mind was stable enough to let her be. 

After a few minutes, she sat up, dusting off her clothes and straightening her mussed hair. Her eyes took on a wilder, more dangerous look, but there was an air of sadness around her.

“Come see me” she told Sachiel, who squeezed her hand and told her that he would, as soon as he was able. Then she turned to Aziraphale, who did his best to give her an encouraging smile.

“You can stay a while longer with your brother, if you like. As you said, Hell will not search for you any time soon, I am sure you can spare an hour.”

Dagon looked for a long moment like she might agree, but then she stepped back as if Aziraphale’s words had burned her.

“Better to keep it short,” she fixed her strange gaze on him. “You’re brave. And you helped my brother. I will not forget that.”

Aziraphale was about to say a polite goodbye, when Dagon stepped closer to him, leaning in and taking a deep breath as if smelling a flower. 

“Can smell it.” She muttered ominously. “Angelic mind, decaying, worse than falling. Better hope you find a cure.”

Then she was gone, as quickly as she’d come.

Aziraphale turned to Sachiel, to ask if he was ok, if there was anything Aziraphale could do. Sachiel gave him a weak smile.

“If you don’t mind, I will go upstairs and continue with those scrolls. Easier not to talk about it, you see.”

“Of course. I’ll be here if you need me”

Sachiel reached over and gave his hand a grateful squeeze, then went upstairs, leaving Aziraphale to contemplate what had just happened.

********

Azirapahle didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but he must have drifted off. It had been one of those days, when simply remembering how to operate the till (not that he enjoyed selling books, but sometimes he simply couldn’t afford not to) or where to shelve the latest tomes, was an impossible task. He’d sat down to drink the Earl Grey tea Sachiel had thoughtfully made for him. That must have been some hours ago because it was dark now, the bookshop so shadowed it felt like all the lights in it had been extinguished. 

A sudden noise at the front of the shop made Aziraphale sit up straighter, a feeling of dread sitting in his gut like a stone. The footfall approaching the back room was heavy, menacing Aziraphale with the promise of bad things to come.

“Did you really think it would work, Sunshine? Did you think Heaven’s finest would fall for such a pathetic scheme?”

“Gabriel. I think you have some explaining to do.” Aziraphale tried to steady his voice. “Does the Almighty know what you do to other angels when you have a fit of pique?”

“I’m head Archangel, stupid. My word is as good as law.” He crossed the short distance to the sofa, his strange sickly rotten-flower scent filling Aziraphale’s nose and leaving him nauseated. 

“Besides, I think your indiscretions are far beyond forgiveness, don’t you? No one’s coming to save you now, Aziraphale.”

Then his hand closed tight around Aziraphale’s throat, squeezing so hard that the angel felt bones cracking. He forced Aziraphale’s head back so he could look him in the eye, free hand closing on his shoulder and gripping in a way that said he would have Aziraphale’s wings out if he had to force them.

“You can’t.” Aziraphale regretted the words as soon as they were out. He was certain his wings couldn’t take another breaking yet. 

“I can do what I like.” Gabriel squeezed his jaw tightly, forcing Aziraphale to look at him. 

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale, wake up … you’re dreaming, dear … come on now, come back to me.”

Gabriel seemed to be shimmering in front of him, like a reflection on a pond broken by a stone’s throw. The darkness dissipated, thick smoky tendrils crawling around the walls before vanishing out of the door and around the edges of the window pains.

“Who’s there?”

He could move more easily now, he noted, as he sat bolt upright.

“It’s Sachiel. It’s just me, darling, no one else is here. You’re alright.”

Aziraphale shook his head violently. The shop was still dim, filled with a dark, icy mist that surrounded him and pulled at the edges of his mind. 

“Why can’t I see you properly?”

“Give it a moment. You’re nearly there.”

Aziraphale felt a warm hand in his, and took it gratefully, holding on tight.

“That was the most vivid one yet,” he admitted. 

The dimness started to clear, and he could see Sachiel crouching on the floor in front of him, his brow creased with worry.

“Can I fetch you anything? More tea? I could try to heal you a little if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble. Only, I … I am very wary of letting anyone else near my mind. I had some … experiences, let us say.”

“With Gabriel, I presume?”

Aziraphale nodded mutely, looking down at his hands.

“I understand. I have had … similar experiences with him when I displeased him.” 

“You have? I mean … evidently you have but … did he …” he shook his head, not knowing how to ask the question.

“Invade my mind? Yes. He has been relentless in trying to sway me from talking to Dagon, and from encouraging other angels to speak with their lost siblings.”

“I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale looked up then, meeting Sachiel’s gaze. “How many angels had siblings, do you know?”

“I am not certain. It is not many, I don’t think. I know of about twenty.”

“It must be so hard.”

Sachiel said nothing, but nodded acknowledgement. “How can I make you more comfortable?”

“I’m not sure you can,” Aziraphale said. “But I appreciate your help. I … let us try. I am willing to try anything at this point.” 

He tried to settle more comfortably on the sofa, closing his eyes. Then he felt Sachiel’s fingers on his temple, brushing his hair back softly.

“It will be ok,” Sachiel said softly, in a voice like buttered sunlight, and Aziraphale felt himself relax a little. “You must tell me the moment you wish me to stop, yes?” 

Aziraphale nodded that yes, he would. The sensation of Sachiel entering his mind was the blessing to Gabriel’s curse, gentle and soft and unobtrusive as a gentle spring rain. Aziraphale’s Grace resonated with Sachiel’s, and he reached automatically towards him.

“It feels so good.” He admitted. “I had no idea it could.”

“We are designed for love and connection,” Sachiel pointed out, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. “Some of us forget that all too quickly. Heaven is hardly the most loving place.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale could hear the bitterness in his own voice, as he thought of Crowley, of everything Gabriel had wrought upon them. The memory came, unbidden, of how it had felt to bleed out on the floor of the tavern, feeling his body choke and lose the fight, not knowing if Crowley was still alive or not. Of the desperate, devastating joy of being intimate with him, knowing the risk, knowing it was worth it … until it wasn’t. Until it got too dangerous. He tried to screen the memories from Sachiel, who immediately drew back from his thoughts. Aziraphale opened his eyes with a small sound of surprise.

“I do not wish to invade your privacy” he said 

Tears welled in Aziraphale’s eyes at the words, much to his own surprise.

“Is that .. .a bad thing?” Sachiel asked with a note of confusion when he noticed them.

“I am just not used to angels who are not attempting to belittle, or torture, me,” Aziraphale told him honestly. “It is a little overwhelming … not just that you mean me no harm, but the … the feeling of being close to another angel. I am quite unused to it.”

“I quite understand. You do recall how I practically clung to you and Crowley the night you brought me here?”

Aziraphale smiled. “That I do. I am sorry, you were so kindly helping me. Will you continue? The more I can keep my mind stable, the better for all of us, I think.”

Sachiel kept working, carefully avoiding the memories that surfaced. The last vestiges of the hallucination had passed, leaving the bookshop warm in the late afternoon sun. Sachiel was so focussed on his work that Aziraphale could steal a moment to observe him. It seemed their connection was beneficial to him, too, for he looked a little less tense, and his skin was more golden, less bleached looking. 

“I wish I knew why,” Aziraphale said, as Sachiel finished working and sat back. “He has such … such a mania, in him, for trying to force me into what he considers the right ways.”

Sachiel looked sympathetic, but something flickered behind his eyes. Aziraphale sat up a little straighter.

“Do you know something?”

Sachiel gave him a pained look. Aziraphale’s chest ached. He knew he was putting Sachiel in an awkward position. But if there was something about Gabriel’s actions that he did not know, that might help him understand …. He was about to try and explain that when Sachiel seemed to come to a decision. Taking a deep breath, he fixed his gaze on Aziraphale, speaking softly and carefully.

“Gabriel believes himself in love with you.”

He offered no further explanation, just sat back and didn’t speak, clearly giving Aziraphale space to take it on board. Aziraphale’s mind raced, refusing to entertain the possibility. He recoiled from Sachiel, trembling.

“No,” he said simply.

Sachiel didn’t respond. He just watched Aziraphale carefully, with a slight frown that aged his lovely features.

“He couldn’t … he doesn’t.” He paused again, the thought needling him now, like a beesting. “I suppose he does seem more obsessed with me than the other angels, but surely that is because I am stationed on earth and he is determined to make sure I am an appropriate representative of the angelic realm. I do have a tendency to stray …”

Sachiel still didn’t speak, though Aziraphale could feel the warm support and empathy radiating from him. Slowly the memory came to him of Gabriel grabbing his thigh in the Bastille, in the sick sort of pleasure he seemed to get by forcing Aziraphale to relinquish his memories of being intimate with Crowley to Gabriel’s judgemental gaze. 

“Oh, God.” He clamped his hand over his mouth, stomach suddenly heaving. “Oh, no. No.”

Sachiel nodded, offering his hand, which Aziraphale took gratefully. 

“He’s … he’s jealous of Crowley? That’s why the over the top rage?”

“He thinks you should have chosen him. That if you will just see the error of your ways, he can train you into righteousness, and you will be grateful that he was willing to love you despite your flagrant defiance of the Heavenly laws.”

Aziraphale shook his head desperately, standing up and pacing the room, hands twisted into a nervous knot behind his back. 

“He can’t. He’s … he’s so obsessed with Heaven’s rules and regulation, with purity. He would not … sully … himself with something as human as romantic love or … or … desire. Not that … not that I see those things as inherently bad, I just mean ...”

“I know. It is clear that you and Crowley are deeply in love, and there’s nothing impure about it.” Sachiel was watching him sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is hardly your fault, or responsibility.” 

Sachiel looked away at that, and Aziraphale could feel the guilt and worry building in the Archangel like a wave. He was suddenly reminded of how little time Sachiel had spent away from Heaven’s bureaucracy. He must feel even more trapped in some ways than Aziraphale himself did.

“Why did you really save Crowley?” he asked the Archangel abruptly, and knew the answer at once from the love and longing in Sachiel’s eyes when he looked up in surprise. 

“Did you … did you know him before the fall?” he asked, and Sachiel looked away again.

“I … I don’t know. I don’t recall him, but he does seem very familiar. I knew when I saw him in Hell that I could not leave him there.”

“Why were you in Hell anyway?” Aziraphale asked, and Sachiel raised his eyebrows.

“Darling, I think you are deflecting.”

“So are you,” Aziraphale snapped, and immediately regretted it. 

“I had business there,” Sachiel said shortly, but not unkindly, and Aziraphale decided to drop the subject rather than force information from Sachiel that he clearly wasn’t ready to give. 

“What will you do with this information, now you have it?” Sachiel asked him after a moment.

“I do not know.” Aziraphale admitted. “What is there to do, really? Save for try to stay away from him?”

Sachiel looked as if he might reply, but was stricken by a terrible coughing fit. Aziraphale watched in horror, miracling up a handkerchief to catch the splatters of blood, and gently rubbing Sachiel’s back. By the time Sachiel had regained his composure, the handkerchief was soaked red.

“Please, let me give you another healing,” Aziraphale said, his heart racing with fear. 

“Aziraphale, no. You are only lately back from a terrible hallucination.”

“I cannot just leave you …”

“You are not leaving me anywhere. You and Crowley have sheltered me, and while I realise I cannot stay thus forever, I am very grateful.”

Aziraphale shook his head, feeling utterly out of his depth. His mind was still reeling from both the hallucination and the revelations that followed it. And he was deathly worried about his new friend, who was clearly still very sick. It had been nearly a year since he’d heard from Crowley.

“Hey … hey, come here.” Sachiel reached out his hand, and Aziraphale went, finding himself drawn to the other angel’s warmth and gentleness. Sachiel pulled Aziraphale down onto the sofa beside him, squeezing his hand tight. Aziraphale looked at him, struck not for the first time by his beauty. His long golden hair and deep blue eyes made him look regal and timeless and oh, those eyes were so expressive. Aziraphale suspected Sachiel could not hide his emotions if he tried, and he appreciated him all the more for it.

“Don’t give up. You and Crowley have survived these long millennia, and I cannot even imagine what you have been through to do it, but you have. I have to believe there is a way.”

“Surely after what Gabriel did to you, you don’t believe in God’s goodness? Either … either She knew and let him do it, or She is not as omnipresent as we have been led to believe.”

Sachiel stared at their joined hands for a long moment. “You … you are right,” he said quietly, and Aziraphale could almost feel his heart breaking. When a tear leaked from the corner of Sachiel’s eye, he swiped it away irritably, as if embarrassed. “Oh, ignore me.” He said shakily. “One would think I might have figured out that God was hardly all-loving after the war, after She … and some of the angels … what they did …”

He trembled violently, and Aziraphale, even through his haze, recognised the signs of shock. He’d heard of such things with humans, that when one finally had some reprieve from a tortuous situation, the relief could bring with it a wave of delayed shock, as if all the things one had suppressed finally broke free. 

“Were you in the war?”

Sachiel nodded tightly. “Supposed to be, anyway. Spent most of my time trying to heal the injured on both sides. It was so … unnatural, Aziraphale … seeing angels turned on each other.” He looked up then, with a clear gaze that made Aziraphale feel seen to his innermost self. “Were you in the war?”

“Yes,” he said simply, though he grimaced at the word. “I fought. Badly.” Then after a pause, he added, “I’m not going to lie to you, I struck a few blows, but I hated myself for it. It felt so … well, as you said, unnatural.”

“I am hardly going to judge you. I have spent much of my life doing everything I can to avoid Gabriel, and steer clear of Heaven’s machinations, at the expense of doing any real good. We do what we must to survive.”

Aziraphale nodded agreement. 

“Did you … when did you find out that Dagon had fallen?” Aziraphale asked, as carefully as he could. “Of course you do not have to talk about that … about her … I know you said it was easier not to. But I thought that perhaps you had not been able to do so, before.”

A ghost of a smile touched Sachiel’s lips. “You are kind, to ask. I … I saw her fall. I tried to save her … I went to Hell to try and do so ... but I was too late.”

“Do you know who ….?”

“I think his name was Enechiel. I didn’t know him.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply squeezed Sachiel’s hand. He wished someone could have been there for Dagon, as he had apparently been there for Crowley, a fact that still made his heart stumble. 

“How long was it before you saw her?”

“Minutes.” Sachiel looked up at him, his eyes wet. “I knew a back entrance to Hell that would not make me fall - more of an administrative entrance. I went there and looked for her.”

“Good Lord. Some of the demons would have torn you apart, especially when they were newly fallen.”

“I couldn't leave her. The thought of her becoming a demon and me not being there to help her … we’d always been there for each other. I thought about falling too, so I could stay by her side. But I was afraid and I still felt loyal to Heaven …and then she was gone ...”

He paused, and put his head in his hands.

“You must miss her. I mean, of course you still see her, but I imagine you must miss what you had before she fell. I cannot imagine someone I love falling.”

Sachiel cast him a strange look, that sent a sensation like splintering ice down Aziraphale’s spine. The air crackled, almost audibly.

“Sachiel?”

“Please don’t ask me. Not tonight, not when you are already struggling.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again. He would do exactly the same thing, were their roles reversed. He wanted to ask, especially after what Sachiel had just revealed about Gabriel, but he recognised that Sachiel was trying to protect him.

“Can I just ask, if it becomes vital for me to know, will you tell me?”

“As soon as it is safe to. I dislike keeping secrets from someone I … from you. Just, not tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Aziraphale agreed. 

Sachiel smiled a little. “How are you feeling? Can I do anything else?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Just sit with me for a few minutes?”

“Anything. Let me just …” Sachiel got up and vanished into the kitchen, returning several minutes later with two cups of tea. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping tea, both lost in their own thoughts. At least, Aziraphale was certainly lost in his, and assumed Sachiel was the same.

After a few minutes, he turned and was horrified to see silent tears sliding down Sachiel’s face, while he tried valiantly to hide the fact that he was crying.

“What is it?” he asked, laying a gentle hand on the Archangel’s sleeve.

“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry.” Sachiel wiped his eyes quickly. “Just a moment.”

“Don’t apologise. You’re not in Heaven now - you are allowed to feel.”

“I am afraid, honestly. I do not regret helping you and Crowley, and I would do it again. But the thought of going back to Heaven is daunting. Yet I must, because if I am not in Heaven, then I cannot use my usual hidden passage to Hell, to her. She still needs me.”

He turned to Aziraphale, almost pleading, as if he needed someone to see his sister as anything other than a monster. “She has moments when she is herself, when she … when she knows who she was and what she is. I cannot leave her.”

“I know. It’s ok … it’s ok,” Aziraphale said helplessly, fearing that it really wasn’t, but finding himself at a loss for anything else to say. 

He was painfully aware of how much Sachiel had risked to help him, and what a steep price he was now paying. To suffer that on top of losing a sibling … it was unconscionable. As he wrapped his arms carefully around the Archangel, he was reminded, for the first time in a long time, of the days in Heaven before the Fall. There was so much rhetoric about loving God, but precious little seemed to be said of loving anyone else, or of compassion, or kindness. Sometimes angels who expressed concern for others, or for humans, seemed like more of an aberration than anything else.

Sachiel drew back, wiping his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, tosh. You’ve dealt with Heaven since time immemorial … since before time, really. You are allowed a moment.”

Sachiel nodded, but looked slightly guilty.

“You’re not the only angel in the room, you know. I might only be a lowly principality, but I can at least offer you some comfort,” he teased the Archangel gently, eliciting a soft laugh that seemed to make the room glow. 

“You have been so kind,” Sachiel told him. “Thank you. I shall be loath to leave you and return to Heaven.”

“You shall do no such thing. Not until we are at least confident you will not be … hurt … by going back.”

“I cannot stay here forever, darling.”

“I know.” 

But oh how I wish you could, he wanted to add. At the thought, something strange sparked in Aziraphale’s chest, something warm and gentle and … wanting. He moved swiftly to hide it, painfully aware that Sachiel could sense his feelings fairly easily. He needed protection and healing, not … Aziraphale could feel himself flushing.

“I’m not upset,” Sachiel said quietly. Aziraphale couldn’t raise his eyes to look at him. “Aziraphale … please. To go from Heaven and Gabriel, to having your esteem and affection … that’s beautiful. Not something to feel ashamed about.”

Aziraphale did look up then. The air around him was crackling with divine energy, and he felt the connection even stronger, like tethers of light, between them. He had never been so close to another angel, literally or physically. Sachiel’s hand was warmer now, and he gave Aziraphale’s fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Without thought or premeditation, moving as if spurred by something deep in his cells, Aziraphale kissed him.

His immediate response was to draw back, possibly out of the bookshop and to the other side of the city, while apologising profusely. 

But then Sachiel kissed him back. It was hesitant, as if he was unsure how to move, but brimming with so much love that Aziraphale felt himself gasp against the Archangel’s mouth. Aziraphale gently cupped Sachie’s jaw in one hand, kissing him softly and slowly, as if he could somehow give him all the love and tenderness he had been denied, through that one kiss. He tasted of heat and honey, and Aziraphale’s senses were swimming with it. He moved slowly at first, pressing his lips carefully to the Archangel’s mouth, sucking gently here and there, humming soothingly against him. 

When Sachiel responded by tangling his long fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, he whined slightly and wrapped his free arm firmly around Sachiel’s waist, pulling him closer and running his tongue along the seam of his lips. The Archangel parted his lips for him, and his openness and trust was intoxicating. Aziraphale pressed his tongue carefully into the other angel’s mouth, exploring him slowly and reverently, keeping him held close. A sense of peace settled between them as they kissed, caught in a perfect moment like a drop of water in a rainbow.

When Sachiel placed his hand hesitantly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Aziraphale covered it with his own, guiding the Archangel to touch his collar and the solid curve of his chest. His touch felt like a thousand waves of the sea caressing Aziraphale’s body, and without thinking he reached out and cupped Sachiel’s hip, drawing forth a soft moan that made Aziraphale tingle. Suddenly the urge to pull Sachiel against him and map every inch of the other angel’s body with his hands and mouth, until they were both breathless and hard with desire, was overwhelming. 

Panicked, Aziraphale drew back immediately, catching Sachiel’s hands as he did, desperate to reassure the Archangel that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“That was so inappropriate of me, I am so very, very sorry.” His voice shook, and his heart twisted itself into a miserable knot, thinking of Crowley. How could he have ….? How could he tell him? He could feel how hard his hands were shaking and suddenly he wished Crowley was there to hold him. Which only made things worse. Wanting Crowley to comfort him when Crowley was the one who stood to be hurt by his actions, not to mention that Sachiel needed friendship and support, not … not that.

“I’m not upset. You are lovely … I... “

There was a long silence. 

“We cannot do that again. At least ... Crowley and I have never, we never discussed, we never thought there would be someone else …”

“I know, I know. Aziraphale, it’s ok. We are both under a great deal of stress, somewhat love and touch starved, and weary. It’s ok.”

Aziraphale nodded and squeezed his hands briefly. “We might need to … to talk.”

“Yes, we might. Tonight, however, I think we both need to rest.”

Aziraphale agreed and said so. Rising, he busied himself making cocoa and a snack, bidding Sachiel a soft goodnight before taking his own portion upstairs to the tiny bedroom above the shop, where he sat on the bed for several hours, staring unseeing into the dark room and trying to figure out if he could ever forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This fic has turned out bigger and weirder and darker and lovelier than I'd planned it, and I appreciate those of you who've stuck with it SO MUCH ♥
> 
> **This is a big huge spoiler warning about the OT3 tag**
> 
> Seriously do not read if you don't want this fic spoiled for you.
> 
> OK?
> 
> Yes this fic has an OT3 tag now. Yes, both Aziraphale and Crowley develop feelings for Sachiel, and he for them. I sort of saw it coming, but as I personally don't like to read stories about them with anyone else (oh the irony!) I filed it away for a long ass time. But characters are going to do what they're going to do, and I wanted to tell the story that was in front of me, not the one I'd expected. I know some people aren't comfortable with them being with other people, so I wanted to put this out there, so anyone who needs to get off the GLS bus can do that.


	21. Just Another Loop In The Hangman's Noose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley succeeds in drawing Heaven's attention from Aziraphale and Sachiel, while the two angels work to strengthen their wards, but Crowley's bold actions are about to catch up with him. Back in London, Aziraphale has a confession to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my incredible beta [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos) who somehow always knows what I was trying to do, and helps me do it!
> 
> **Content warning**
> 
> This chapter briefly references self harm, specifically Crowley doing so.

Belfast, 1883

Crowley groaned and sank onto the wooden seat in the Belfast tavern. As it turned out, constantly convincing Heaven that they had found their rogue angels was exhausting. It had been a long twenty years, and he wasn’t sure he could keep this up much longer. It wouldn’t take St Patrick to drive this snake out of Ireland, he thought gloomily. He was desperate to get back to Aziraphale.

The fact that their plan was working at all told him that Aziraphale and Sachiel were keeping the bookshop hidden well enough that Crowley’s faint echoes of their grace were pinging Heaven’s rader, while the actual bookshop with its renegade angels was not. Every time Crowley felt the unmistakable egotistical rage of Gabriel’s sanctimonious essence rushing towards him, he knew that was another time he’d fallen for it.

Another time Aziraphale and Sachiel were safe. 

And another time Crowley had to keep himself safe from Gabriel, which was growing increasingly hard.

He didn’t dare make contact. It occurred to him that they really ought to have a signal for “I’ve made enough progress that we can get in touch again.”

Not to mention that they were now hiding an Archangel. Oh Satan’s hairy bollocks, in a long life of bad ideas, that was surely one of their worst. But what else could they do? Sachiel was Crowley’s … friend, seemed the closest word for it … and there was no way in Hell he was going to leave him after what he saw in Heaven. He still felt queasy when he remembered it.

He missed them both. He especially missed Aziraphale to the point where it was nearly unbearable. They’d been apart for much longer before, but he was so much more vulnerable now. Leaving him unguarded felt hackle-raisingly dangerous.

But he wasn’t alone, was he? He had Sachiel. Who would have been an excellent guardian, Crowley was sure, had he not been recovering from near-catastrophic injuries.

Crowley leaned forward until his forehead was touching the beer-tacky wood of the table in front of him. Falling was always going to be a huge complication in his life, but he’d thought at first it would mostly be a case of keep your head down, don’t draw attention, and figure out how to get through each day without dying of boredom or running afoul of Hastur and Ligur. Not this wearing, endless terror of loss and dread.

And Aziraphale was worth every damned and blessed moment of it. He just had to hold to that. He just had to hold to that …

Afterwards, Crowley would be angry enough to slice his own flesh in frustration, leaving long scars up his inner arms. Because of all the idiotic feckless things, he’d fallen asleep. In a public tavern. While carrying out a complex manipulation of energies.

The sensation of an iron metaphysical grip around his core energy jolted him awake, to meet sneering lilac eyes and an expression so twisted by hate that for a moment Crowley was almost impressed.

“Finally caught myself a snake.” Gabriel’s mouth quirked up at one corner, and Crowley could see the light of righteous triumph behind his eyes. “And what’s this?” He felt Gabriel’s energy slam into his core, immediately finding both Aziraphale and Sachiel’s grace. “Hiding the Principality and the Archangel, are you? Someone’s going to pay for this. All three of you are going to pay for this.”

Crowley did not dare split his attention long, but a quick examination of the room told him that Gabriel had hidden them from the human patrons. They were on earth, on Crowley’s turf. That had to count for something. 

Gabriel breathed faster. It was a wonder that he wasn’t drooling, really, he looked so pleased with his prize.

But many humans had learned the hard way never to corner a snake.

When Gabriel grabbed for Aziraphale and Sachiel’s grace, Crowley moved faster than any striking cobra, sending a bolt of infernal essence right at the Archangel’s core, where his own outreach had left him vulnerable. It was the tiniest vulnerability, a sliver, but it was enough for Crowley to shove his energy in hard, and barb it so it jammed into Gabriel and wouldn’t dislodge. 

With a roar, Gabriel leapt across the table and wrapped his hands around Crowley’s throat, while Crowley quickly snapped into snake form, slithering out of Gabriel’s grasp and doubling back to strike several bruising blows to his ribs and lower back.

Last time they’d fought, Gabriel had bargained for his life. This time, he had nothing left to bargain with. Crowley hooked his energy under the archangel’s ribs like a fish hook and rolled, so the energy tugged hard and ripped into Gabriel’s core. 

For a frustrating moment, they were locked in an unbreakable hold, both equally matched. Then Crowley snapped his body like a whip, breaking off some of Gabriel’s core energy hard enough that it pooled on the floor. 

Shit! Crowley swerved backwards. Connecting with Aziraphale was one thing, but he didn’t know if touching raw angelic essence would hurt him. It was the perfect opportunity for Gabriel to strike, but Crowley’s attack had weakened him, and he lay slumped on the floor, breathing hard and clutching his midsection. 

“I know now how you’re hiding them, you vile snake,” he snarled, as he tried to get up. “You won’t get away with this.”

Crowley smiled as nastily as he could at his immortal enemy. “I already have.” 

Then he reached into Gabriel’s mind and yanked out his memory of ever discovering Crowley, including the truth about his using Aziraphale’s and Sachiel’s grace to hide them. Gratified by Gabriel’s sharp gasp of pain, he dropped him on the floor. For a moment he considered tearing into the Archangel’s mind and seizing the information he’d hinted at in Hell, find out which memory Aziraphale had lost and why. But even a demon had limits.

Hurting him, though, was still very much on the table. Taking advantage of Gabriel’s weakened state, Crowley coiled tight around him, hissing threateningly in his ear.

“Did you enjoy my venom last time? Do you know I can control it? If you thought last time hurt, you have no idea what I can do to you.”

“Don’t threaten me, worm. I recovered last time. You don’t scare me.”

“No?” Crowley jammed his fangs into Gabriel’s neck, pumping venom into his veins. Gabriel gasped, fighting hard.

“I can keep doing this all day,” Crowey said, squeezing tighter around the bastard’s ribs as a reminder of how easy it would be to start breaking bones. Gabriel fought back, but Crowley was single-minded and hellbent on getting what he wanted. When Gabriel slumped slightly, still trying to shove Crowley away, Crowley jabbed his fangs threateningly against Gabriel’s neck.

“What do you want?” Gabriel rasped. 

“What did you mean when you said Aziraphale had lost another memory? When? How? Did you do it to him?”

When Gabriel only laughed in answer, Crowley gave him a warning squeeze, hard enough that his bones creaked. He was suddenly very aware of Gabriel’s energy tainting his own, where he’d torn into it. There was something so familiar …

Gabriel twisted in his grip to give him a smile of pure malevolence.

“Sachiel didn’t tell you everything, did he … brother?”

Then he passed out. Crowley sank to the floor, his legs unable to support him. No. No no no no. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t, it couldn’t be … He found he was pressing his hands to his midsection and staring down at his body as if it might suddenly betray him in some way. 

Crowley tried to move, but he was shaking uncontrollably. How could he be made from the same strand of matter as the monster who’d tortured his greatest love, over and over again? He grabbed the table and dragged himself back to standing. He had to get away, he couldn’t look at Gabriel, couldn’t risk him waking up. He couldn’t stop the howl of rage and pain that tore from his throat as he forced his disobedient body to obey him, fleeing the tavern as fast as he could, knowing that even if he clawed his own skin off he’d never escape the feelings of disgust that ebbed and flowed in him like a polluted tide.

********

The steamship from Belfast was smelly and crowded, and Crowley spent most of it in his cabin, where he lay on the tiny bed and stared at the wall, trying to process what Gabriel had said. How was it possible … how could he tell Aziraphale? The thought made him sick to the point that he vomited twice. 

Crowley hoped he’d bought them a little more time, at least. And there was only one thing he could bear to do with it. He needed to look on his angel’s face.

And he had to trust that Aziraphale would love him the same way, when he learned the truth. 

Crowley curled tighter into himself, relieved that at least no one was present to witness and exploit his vulnerability. 

Aziraphale had risked his life, lost his life, for love of Crowley. He’d let Crowley twine round him in his snake form and trusted him to be so intimate. He wouldn’t … he wouldn’t … but the thought hurt all the same, and he needed to tell him. Get it over with. But more than that he needed to see for himself that Aziraphale and Sachiel were ok.

There were hours yet till landfall. Crowley screwed his eyes tight shut, tried to ignore the roiling in his stomach, and fell into a fitful sleep.

The carriage ride to London was bumpy and unpleasant, and more than once Crowley thought of just miracling himself there. But now of all times it was not a smart idea to do anything that would ping anyone’s senses. And so he let the rumbling of the wheels on the road lull him into a light sleep. 

By the time he reached London his body ached and he was cold and miserable but he hardly cared. Everything he wanted lay behind a warded door in Soho with a display of books in the window. His feet carried him swift and sure to the center of his universe, where he raised a tired fist and knocked.

The relief in his chest when Aziraphale opened the bookshop door felt like a soft snow falling on previously parched ground.

“Crowley? Is it … is that you?”

Aziraphale looked uncertain, and Crowley’s gut knotted in dread. Had his grip on reality become so tenuous that he didn’t recognise him?

“Angel … it’s me.”

“You didn’t warn me.” It wasn’t an admonishment, though Crowley couldn’t help noticing how tense he seemed. “Come in … my love, come in.” Crowley was ecstatic to stride through the doors, feeling the wards prickle against his skin, though they were obviously set to grant him entry. He removed his smoky quartz glasses and black frock coat. 

“Angel ….”

He reached for Aziraphale, hoping desperately that after their tender parting and two whole decades since they’d last seen each other, he would be open to being held, perhaps to kissing, but the angel stepped back as if Crowley’s nearness had burned him.

“Come in.” He said politely. “Tell me why you are here.”

“To see you,” Crowley said blankly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Which, to him, it was.

“But with no word … Crowley, I must know what has happened, if it is dangerous for you to be here.” He started fussing with the tea things as he talked, as if Crowley was an acquaintance that he must entertain.

“Angel I … I missed you.”

Aziraphale stopped bustling with the tea things then, turning to him with a look so sad, that Crowley didn’t know what to do. He wanted to hold him, but that was clearly out of bounds today. 

“Where is Sachiel?”

“In Heaven.”

“What?! As it happens Gabriel is somewhat out of commission, but you didn’t know that - he didn’t know that - shit, why is he back there? That was not the plan, Aziraphale!”

“I couldn’t stop him, Crowley, believe me I tried …”

“For Hell’s sake!” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. What was the point of trying to protect the clearly still very sick Archangel, if he was just going to .. and why had Aziraphale let him …? “Just .. come sit by me and tell me everything.”

Those were the wrong words, clearly. Aziraphale handed him tea, and sat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“Was he … better?”

“Not really.” Aziraphale’s voice was cold and thin. “I asked … begged … him not to go. But he would not stay, and I could hardly keep him here by force. He pointed out that with Gabriel chasing you Heaven was probably a little safer, and he has been checking in regularly. But it’s been nearly a month, and I am worried about him … ”

“Why would he insist on going back to Heaven?”

“He … I … he can be impulsive.”

“That’s not an answer, at all. Though I am not surprised to learn it.”

Aziraphale gave him a guilty look. “I have had several … episodes …. while you were gone.”

“Episodes?”

Crowley was watching carefully now, alert to every change in tone or expression on the angel’s face, and wishing he would not feel guilty for something he clearly could not help.

“A hallucination. Gabriel was here, in the bookshop. It took me a while to return to reality.”

No. No, that was not good at all. Crowley suddenly knew deep in his gut that hiding wasn't enough. Staying safe wasn’t enough. They had to find a way to heal Aziraphale, and quickly. 

“Did Sachiel leave because of that?”

“Yes, he wanted to go and examine the archives again.”

“You already did that.”

“I know, Crowley, I know, but as an Archangel, he has access to more information than I do.”

Crowley leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “I’ve half a mind to go up there myself and bring him back here. For crying out loud.”

“I know dear, but that hardly seems the most sensible idea.”

“Yes, because this is such a sensible situation,” Crowley groused, reaching for his tea, then changing his mind and snapping a bottle of decent red wine into existence, with two glasses. He poured one for Aziraphale, then slid it along the table to him. 

“He said he would come back here, if he was sure it was safe to do so.”

“And if he decides it’s not, all this was for nought …”

Aziraphale nodded, taking a small sip of wine. The bookshop felt cold and dusty, not like its usual self at all, and Crowley found it unsettling. The shop was such an extension of the angel. If it felt unkempt and tired, so did Aziraphale.

“So, why are you here?” Aziraphale repeated, as if Crowley was a distant colleague who had unexpectedly dropped by. 

Swallowing how much that stung, hoping he might find a way to bring the angel out of his fugue a bit, Crowley told him the story of the tavern. Well, most of the story about the tavern.

“You took his memory?”

“I did it back in the Seventeenth century. You were there. And two is perfectly survivable. Not that I honestly care whether he survives. For what he’s done to you, I would happily be the one to ensure he does not.”

“I would not wish what I am suffering on anyone, even him. Please do not do it again.”

“Please do not … I am trying to save you, to save us. If I have to take sixteen memories from him and leave him as a mangled pile of guts on the cobbles, then believe me I’ll have no compunction.”

The look Aziraphale gave him was weary.

“Angel … did something happen? Or is it just a bad day? Are you worried about Sachiel? I know it’s been a long time, and I hate that we haven’t been able to stay in touch, but …”

He trailed off with an irritated gesture. But what? But he thought Aziraphale would be pleased to see him? But he was terrified that the angel had deteriorated in his absence and there was nothing he could do to help him?

“Crowley, I must tell you something.”

Aziraphale’s expression was pinched, his eyes wide as if determined to keep a stoic aspect and not cry or look away.

“What is it? Aziraphale, you’re scaring me.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment like he was about to throw himself into the sea to drown.

“I kissed Sachiel. I’m .. I’m so very sorry, I …. It was … it was several years ago now and I told him we should not do it again, and we didn’t speak of it after … I’m sorry.”

He struggled to meet Crowley’s gaze. For a moment, Crowley didn’t understand. Aziraphale looked so guilty, so utterly heartsick.

“Aziraphale … love … is that why you’re so quiet tonight? I assumed you were not feeling well …”

Aziraphale twisted his hands together. “I know we need not follow human convention, but that hardly seems an acceptable excuse for … for …”

“For offering comfort to someone who was in pain? For taking comfort from someone who was there when you needed gentleness?”

“I … Crowley?” Aziraphale looked confused.

“Angel will you please, please let me hold your hand? We can talk about this. It’s honestly not a big deal … I mean, it IS a big deal in that kissing someone for the first time generally is, but … it’s not a big deal in the way you think it is.”

“I’ve been so worried, Crowley. I … we had never even thought to discuss such a thing. And he needed healing, for goodness’ sake. What if this is part of why he left?”

“Let’s take those one at a time.” Crowley put his arm out, inviting Aziraphale into an embrace. To his relief, the angel moved closer, though he was still stiff-backed and tense.

“First … well yes, you said it. We never thought to discuss it. So we are talking about it now it has become something to talk about. Angel, I know you love me. I know how deep our love goes. I honestly don’t mind you kissing him! For one thing, I don’t own you. For another, he is absolutely lovely, and I can certainly see why you would …. Anyway, it’s not an issue. Might make some sense to talk about it all together, if we can get the reckless pillock back from Heaven.”

Crowley paused to give Aziraphale time to process, and in truth to give himself time to confront some feelings that he had been carefully shoving down and putting a large heavy rock on top of. The memory of Sachiel’s hands on his body when they were in Hell … how easy it had been to call him sweetheart and hold him gently the night they rescued him …

“Second.” He ploughed on. “Why do you think that your kiss was unwelcome, or not conducive to his healing? Did he … I mean … look, you don’t have to answer, but how did he respond?”

“He kissed me back,” Aziraphale admitted miserably. Crowley was sorely tempted to ask what was so terrible about being kissed by a beautiful Archangel.

“So it seems that he was not too perturbed by it.” He gave Aziraphale an encouraging smile. “And third, although I do not know him terribly well yet, he doesn’t strike me as someone who would have a hysterical fit over a kiss and run away to Heaven to escape you! As cross as I am at him for going, I am perfectly confident he would have gone whether you kissed him or not.”

Aziraphale relaxed a bit at that. Crowley was starting to feel more nervous, though. What the Hell was Sachiel playing at? 

“Crowley, I … that is to say … when he and I …”

Crowley rubbed his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand.

“You liked it? I’d have been surprised if you didn’t. Look, Aziraphale, I don’t really know how to talk about this, been shoving it aside for nearly a year. But you saw how easy I found it to hold him, in Heaven. And yeah he was injured, but …”

“There is something between you. Yes, I saw that.”

“And? How did you feel?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful, then smiled slightly. “Warm. Seeing you give and receive love made me happy.”

Crowley wasn’t sure what to say to that. This was a conversation he was in no way ready for. And Aziraphale didn’t know the whole truth … Aziraphale was speaking again. Crowley tried to look like he hadn’t panicked for a moment.

“... our lives are already so very stressful, my love. And human convention - which changes all the time anyway - holds little interest for us. I think perhaps we ought to take our moments of love and joy where we can find them. If being away from you this last year taught me one thing, it’s that love is too precious to let slip by. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, angel, but what are you trying to say?”

Aziraphale gave him a shy smile. “I am saying that as we both clearly have very similar feelings for Sachiel, and he for us, I am open to discussing that with him. And, should the moment arise, I am perfectly content for you to … to be as close to him as you might wish.”

“Well, first of all, we have to get him back. Second, you cannot possibly know how he feels. And thirdly - are you saying …?”

“Darling, I am an angel. I feel love, remember? And his love for you radiates. As does yours for him. And yes, I am saying that now we have discussed it, I feel easier in my mind about what happened, and if you should ever kiss him, and wherever that might lead, I would not be the least bit disturbed. Crowley, what we have is so deep and eternal. Might we not share that love?”

“That … that is what my heart says too, angel, and honestly I am relieved! I had worried that my feelings might … might hurt you.”

Aziraphale gave him a look of understanding.

“There is something else on your mind, though. And I think perhaps you will be able to focus better on how we might get Sachiel back from Heaven, or at least make sure he is ok, if you unburden yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Crowley stood up, making his way to the kitchen to locate some tea leaves. He was thirsty and cold and thoroughly out of sorts.

“Let me.”

It was a measure of how worried Crowley was that he didn’t even notice Aziraphale had gotten up to follow him until he felt Azirahale’s warm hand on his. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley, I didn’t notice as much as I ought. You are hurting, my love. Please, make yourself comfortable …”

He led Crowley back into the shop, settling him on the couch and insisting on wrapping a soft cream and blue blanket around him. “I only have Earl Grey dear, is that alright?”

Crowley grinned a bit then. Always so polite, his angel. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Moments later, Aziraphale was pressing a warm cup of tea into his hands. “Before you say anything, of course I know we have to go and find Sachiel. But talk to me. I know you, Crowley. Whatever it is, you’ll shove it down, keep it hidden for eons, and hurt yourself with it. Tell me. I like this new immediacy we are developing, of saying things as and when they arise.”

“Me too. But this is - angel, this is ….”

“What is it, love?”

“Gabriel … when he found me. We didn’t just fight. He told me something.”

Aziraphale watched him with a welcoming expression, inviting the words. Inviting the confession.

“Remember I told you that some angels have siblings, that Dagon is Sachiel’s?”

“Yes, Crowley, out with it, darling, please.”

“Gabriel is mine.”

“Well that’s just impossible. How could you be related to that … that monster?”

Crowley took a long swallow of tea. “Because God is just that capricious? I don’t know.”

Aziraphale refilled his tea with a quick miracle.

“You don’t think… You aren’t worried that this will change how I feel about you … are you?”

“No.” Saying it made it more real, and Crowley’s relief was immense. Aziraphale must have felt it, for he relaxed too.

“Did you really tear part of Gabriel’s core out?” he asked, after a while.

“Yep.”

“Crowley, that was so reckless. What if they send the other Archangels after you?”

“Well, you and Sachiel will have to work harder” He tried to keep a bit of levity in his voice. “How is that coming along, by the way?”

“Not too bad.” Aziraphale smiled a bit this time. “I have been layering the protection slowly, as I did in Heaven, and weaving all three of our energies together. Yours and mine together work well … but I am always afraid of it being seen by the other angels. What might happen to you if they knew? His energy adds an extra element, like camouflage. It sort of hides yours. I do very much desire to know why, and I am trying to find it out. It is .. it takes time, my mind is not what it was …”

“I know.” Crowley dared to reach out to stroke Aziraphale’s hair. The angel leaned into his touch and nuzzled his hand softly.

“Sachiel … he told me something. Another thing about Gabriel, as it happens. About why … why he does this, why he won’t let this go, why he is so relentless.”

“Tell me.”

Aziraphale gave him a worried look. “Gabriel believes himself to be in love with me. He believes if he continues trying, I will come back to the side of the light, see the error of my ways, and be grateful to him for forcing me onto the righteous path.”

Crowley’s insides lurched as if they were trying to escape the words. 

“That’s … Aziraphale, that’s ….”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Aziraphale poured him more tea, with a sympathetic look.

Crowley shook his head once, sharply, then buried his face in his hands. He felt Aziraphale gently shaking his shoulder and saying his name, but it sounded as if it was coming from miles away. HIs mind was churning up every interaction he’d heard of, seen the aftermath of, between Aziraphale and Gabriel. The devastating way Gabriel had invaded Aziraphale’s mind, the sickening intimacy of forcing the angel to show his wings so Gabriel could break them …

Because he thought he loved him. Crowley wished he’d known this in the tavern, because he would have eviscerated Gabriel there and then.

“He thinks he loves you,” Crowley said, as if that would help.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said carefully, watching Crowley as if he might shatter at any moment.

“I love you.”

“I know that, my darling.” Aziraphale stroked the back of his hand gently.

“So that’s a thing Gabriel and I have in common.” 

“How dare you compare what we have to what he feels?” Aziraphale said in a low voice that was hot with unshed tears. Crowley couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat, couldn’t do anything but give a muffled sob.

“Oh, my love, I am sorry.” Aziraphale was rubbing his back now and somehow that just made it all worse. “I only want you to see that you and he are worlds apart, in every way.”

“We both … we both … he really is my brother, shit. We’re made of the same … we’re the same .. what if I, Aziraphale, what if I hurt you too? I’m so possessive and so is he.”

“No,” Aziraphale said quietly, but very firmly. “We are not going down this guilt-slicked track, darling. By that logic then, Sachiel must be capable of doing all the things to people that Dagon does.”

“I …. well, yes.”

“And is he?”

“Obviously not.”

“So ….? Come on, Crowley, you of all people don’t believe that one’s nature is somehow fated. You believe in choice more than anyone else in Heaven.”

Aziraphale speared him with that piercing gaze that Crowley had so missed, and it was a relief to see him like that, even if the circumstances were less than ideal. Crowley took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He wasn’t going to give in to these thoughts. Not now. Aziraphale needed him.

“Fine, ok. I’m not like him. So let’s focus on staying safe and keeping him far away from you.”

“Darling, we have been saying that since the sixteenth century. What you have been doing is working, for which I am deeply grateful, but what is the eventual aim?”

He looked at Crowley as if he expected an answer, so of course Crowley provided one.

“My eventual aim is to find a way to hide our connection from them, so we can be free to enjoy it whenever we are able. To know that he will no longer hurt you. What’s yours then, angel?”

“To be with you freely and without fear. I want to walk down the street hand in hand with you and not give two figs for what anyone may think, or who might see.”

Crowley gave a wry smile at that. “You’re a bit bolder than me, then. I’d settle for being able to kiss you without fear of discorporation. That and taking away the pain that I caused you -”

“Now, Crowley.” Aziraphale pursed his lips and gave him a reproachful look. “We both know perfectly well Gabriel is to blame. But come now, we have a pressing matter to attend to.”

“Yeah.” Crowley leaned over and kissed him softly. “Time to storm Heaven again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting, you give me the impetus to keep going and keep challenging myself! ♥


	22. Dark Chest Of Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sachiel searches desperately for a way to help Aziraphale. When he comes up with a dangerous idea, he turns to his mentor for help, and finds himself confronting both his past, and his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My everlasting thanks to my amazing beta [Mira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos), who helped SO much with the character development in this!!
> 
> 71K, lovely readers! Ghost Love Score is now officially novel length *throws a party in its honour*. When I came to the fandom a little over a year ago, not having written anything in years due to mental health, I could never have imagined writing the equivalent of a novel. And there's still quite a bit to tell!

He should have told Aziraphale the whole truth. Sachiel groaned and leaned his head back against the wall behind him for a moment. He and Crowley had the right to know.  
But was it his right to tell them?

He stared at the book in front of him, the words swimming slightly. Like the other hundred or so he’d leafed through, it contained nothing of note. He’d wanted to tell him. It had seemed wrong to keep it hidden. The hallucination had been so strong, though, and his mind was already on the edge of a knife. What would it do to Aziraphale, if he knew that he’d loved Crowley before?

What would it do to him if he knew Gabriel was Crowley’s brother? What would it do to Crowley?

“Sachiel.” He flinched at the sound of Michael’s voice. “What are you doing here? I thought Gabriel had put you on restricted duties for disobedience?”

Ah, so that was how Gabriel had explained his absence. That was interesting - he must have lied to the other Archangels about it. Hiding the fact that an Archangel was missing from Heaven was no small feat. He wondered what story Gabriel had spun about his apparent disobedience, but there was no way to ask her without sounding impudent and risking her ire.

“Just looking at some star charts.” Sachiel nodded to where he’d spread them on the bench, glad that he’d thought to bring them with him as a cover. Michael’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed slightly. 

“Why? The stars have been in place for eons.”

“They still require work, though. Maintenance. Celestial energies don’t care for themselves, they need a little guardianship.”

“Aren’t you the Archangel of water?”

“You know the Almighty likes Her angels to have more than one skill.”

Michael looked like she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. But they had no previous bad blood, and no matter what Gabriel had told her, there was nothing untoward about what he was doing. She had no recourse for further prying, though Sachiel was quite certain she would find a way, if she wanted to. She’d always been an insufferable snoop. But she also fancied herself better than everyone she met, and so she gave him a dismissive sneer, and left him alone.

As soon as he was alone again, Sachiel leaned his arms on the desk to cushion his head and slumped forward. Every inch of his body ached, and even though his wings were tucked away, the roots were so sore that it was hard to bear. He felt sick at heart, bone-weary and worn thin. In the dark moments at night in the bookshop, when he was supposed to be resting but really just lay on his back staring into the dark, he wondered if Gabriel had intended to kill him. And if he had, would he have simply left him discorporated? Or would he have burned him in Hellfire until every part of him blew away like ash on a winter wind?

Alone in the archive, without the distraction of watching over Aziraphale or working with him to keep them safe, he couldn't hide from the question that had been hammering inside his brain since Gabriel first took the whip and … and … anyway, the question was, did God know? Because either She didn’t know, which implied She was not as omnipotent as She had led them to believe, or She knew and chose not to act.

Which, considering angels were supposed to obey Her will raised all kinds of questions that Sachiel was not sure he was ready to examine. Aziraphale was right - She either didn’t know, or knew and didn’t care. Did She know what Gabriel had done? Did Gabriel have free will? Did any of them?

His head ached with it. Selfishly, he wished Dagon were there, not only for her sake, but for his. They’d always known just what to say to each other, and they’d always lent each other courage and wisdom. He let himself drift for a moment, remembering her soft blue eyes and easy smile before Her fall. 

She’d promised him she wouldn’t go ahead with Lucifer’s plan. By the time he found out she’d changed her mind and joined Lucifer’s cause after all, the battle was in full force. He’d run across the battlefield screaming her name, every cell of his being feeling her impending fall. And he’d been too late to save her.

But he could still save Aziraphale. There had to be something he could do. Not only because it was right, but because he’d seen how deeply Crowley loved the angel, and they shouldn’t be punished for expressing the sort of profound, unconditional love angels were supposed to espouse.

There was one angel who might know. It had been a long time, and Sachiel had missed him, but they had both become rather reclusive, despite spending a long time together in the years after the war.

Perhaps he wouldn’t object to a visit. 

*****

“Sachiel, by all the spheres. It’s been a few millennia.” Raphael carefully replaced the ball of energy he had been working on in the small glass bowl in front of him, and turned with a smile. 

“Yes … yes, it has. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The other Archangel beckoned him in, gesturing to a chair and miracling up two cups of mint and lavender tea. “Come, sit, tell me what you have been up to these few thousand years.”

“This isn’t a social visit, I’m afraid,” Sachiel said. “I have a problem … I am hoping you might be able to advise me.”

“Of course I will help, if I can,” Raphael told him, his deep green eyes every bit as caring as Sachiel remembered. 

“It’s not entirely mine to tell …”

“That’s alright. Take your time.”

Sachiel paused. What could he say? More than that, how could he excuse not seeing Raphael for so long, then showing up only to ask for his help? They both knew it was safer to keep one’s head down and not get noticed too often. Especially when Sachiel had already had so much difficulty over his attempts to let angels keep in touch with their fallen siblings. He wondered suddenly, painfully, if Raphael realised how desperately he’d missed their times together.

He shook his head, unsure where to start. He’d been in Heaven for nearly a month, scouring the archives, and he was exhausted. He’d vomited blood several times, and although his wing roots hurt a bit less, he still could not open his wings.

“Tell me you have been safe?” the other Archangel asked, jolting Sachiel from his reverie. 

“Safe enough.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, and Sachiel smiled wryly. Suddenly it was millennia ago, before the first turning of the world, and he was but a young Archangel, learning how things worked. If he tried then to deflect and not focus on his feelings, or his worries, Raphael always spotted it, and pulled him up. Some things never changed, even after millennia apart. It was comforting.

Raphael gave him a worried look. “What happened?”

“A few injuries. There was … an altercation. I got caught trying to … to help a friend.”

“It’s ok if you can’t tell me more. At least let me heal you? No one will argue - the one thing I do have is remit to heal as I see fit.”

Sachiel paused, then nodded. They could talk while Raphael worked. The Archangel got up so he could walk around Sachiel’s chair, using his energy to heal the leftover knots and spikes in Sachiel’s.

“I could have done more for you, to protect you,” Raphael said quietly, his rich voice heavy with regret.

“It wasn’t your responsibility.”

“No, I suppose not. But perhaps I ought to have … I could have at least offered you a deeper connection, should you have wanted it.”

“I did,” Sachiel said, so quietly that he wondered if Raphael had heard him. But then his mentor’s hand was on his shoulder, in a gesture so unprecedented that Sachiel shivered. It was the first time they’d touched in countless years. Touch and connection were so frowned upon, for reasons Sachiel could not understand. He suspected many angels had rarely embraced or allowed themselves the very human comfort of a brush of the hand, a lock of hair tucked behind an ear. 

He instinctively reached back to rest his hand over Raphael’s. He could have sworn the other Archangel froze for a moment, but then he carried on examining Sachiel’s energy.

“Sachiel … may I see your injuries? Including your wings?”

Of course he could tell that Sachiel’s wings were damaged. When had Raphael ever missed anything like that? Sachiel felt an intense stab of guilt. He was taking so much healing and kindness and still had more to ask. He felt selfish. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Raphael said softly “I would want to help you, had it been many more times as long since I saw you last.”

“Thank you,” Sachiel said, standing up for a moment so he could remove his coat, waistcoat and shirt. Raphael gave him an encouraging smile with a hint of vulnerability in it. He held out his hand for Sachiel’s clothes, placing them carefully on a nearby table. 

“Opening my wings is difficult,” Sachiel admitted.

“Then let me work on some of your other injuries first.”

Sachiel nodded and sat backwards on the chair, leaning against the back of it and leaving his back open and vulnerable. He heard Raphael draw in a sharp breath when he saw the scarring on his back. 

“May I bathe your scars? Sometimes physical touch helps healing, in more serious cases.”

“Of course.”

Raphael stepped behind him then, holding a bowl that smelled pleasantly of herbs, which he’d miracled into being. Sachiel exhaled, shoulders slumping in relaxation, the moment Raphael applied the warm water to his skin. It felt intensely soothing against the scar tissue, and Sachiel hoped he wouldn’t stop too soon. 

After a few minutes, though, Raphael set the water bowl aside and rested his palms on Sachiel’s shoulder blades, where his wings attached.

“Can you try? I will help you.”

Sachiel thought for a moment of Gabriel ripping his wings into the corporeal world and snapping every bone. He closed his eyes, fear choking him. But this was Raphael, and he trusted him. He put all his energy into persuading his wings to open, feeling self-conscious at the involuntary cry of pain that escaped him as they came to full presence, aching and still a little deformed, though Aziraphale had worked wonders on them. 

“I’ve got you.” Raphael’s hand was warm and strong on Sachiel’s shoulder. The touch, the words, sent Sachiel’s mind racing back to the night Raphael saved his life. 

He’d tried to get to Dagon after her fall, making his way to Hell as quickly as he could and trying desperately to heal her as she lay, flayed and bleeding, on the shore of the boiling lake. She’d tried desperately to push him away, to get him away from Hell. It was too late to save her, and all he could do was hold her as the last of her Grace died. The pain of it had made him lose consciousness, and when he woke up, he was alone. 

Raphael had found him sobbing on the rocky shore, scooped him up in his arms, and carried him back to Heaven. The world had grown dark for a while after that, but Sachiel’s mentor had cradled him in his arms as he talked gently to him, giving him sips of cool water and gradually rubbing life back into his hurt and aching limbs. 

He’d drifted in and out of consciousness for he knew not how long, while Raphael held and soothed him. During the long weeks when his mind refused to come to order, and every limb hurt as if he’d been thrown into boiling sulphur along with Dagon, Raphael had not left his side. When the pain had finally eased enough that he could sleep, his mentor had carefully laid him down on the couch, draped a soft cover over him, and kissed his temple. 

It was the only time they’d touched in all their millennia of knowing each other. And now, feeling Raphael’s gentle hands on his aching body, Sachiel couldn’t help wondering if that had been a mistake. If they could have offered each other comfort and companionship … but oh, it would not have been safe. They both knew that.

The sensation of Raphael’s capable fingers brushing gently through his feathers brought Sachiel fully back to the present. His mentor worked so carefully, straightening out feathers and easing bones into their proper place, releasing the painful knots of tension that had formed in every muscle. If anyone could tell him how to heal Aziraphale, it was the Archangel who was currently running his palms over Sachiel’s wing arches.

As if reading his mind, Raphael said, “Tell me how I can help you?”

“There’s … there’s an angel. He’s in trouble. Serious trouble, Raphael, his mind is damaged so very badly. I have done some healing with him, but I’m so afraid for him. And for myself,” he added after a moment.

“It’s not just because you were so injured, is it? Can you tell me?”

Sachiel paused. There were things he was unsure he was ready to voice. But Raphael’s presence was soothing, and although a long time had passed, Sachiel trusted him.

“Because I cannot see him thus suffering, if I could help him.”

Raphael didn’t speak for a few moments as he finished healing Sachiel’s wings, and then returned to his seat. Sachiel got up and dressed, then sat down facing his mentor.

“I feel loved,” Sachiel said. “I feel loved when I am with them, and I want that so much that it scares me.”

“Them?” Raphael prompted gently.

“The angel, he … he has a partner, a demon.”

He paused, but Raphael’s expression was gentle, with no hint of judgement.

“They both … they have both been so very loving towards me. They helped me when I was hurt. But surely that is not … not angelic, to crave something so? The thought of losing it makes me ache, here.” He pressed a hand to his chest. 

“Who is to say what is angelic? After the things we saw in the war.”

“I .. I suppose you are right, and even now, to see some of us separated from our siblings …” Sachiel trailed off, still not confident that his feelings for Aziraphale and Crowley were righteous. ”

“Did you come here for my opinion?” Raphael asked, firmly but gently. “Because my opinion is that, as angels, our bent should be towards love and healing, not what passes for God’s love. The question is not whether it is right. How can love be wrong, if it is true? The question is will it cause you affliction to leave something undone, or unsaid?”

“Yes, but it’s complicated. What if my caring for them causes them injury in some way? If not by my own hand, then by association with me?”

Raphael sighed heavily and said, “Tell me a bit more about your friend’s injury. Are you looking for a way to stabilise him?”

“That’s why I came to you. You know more about healing than any other angel.”

Raphael nodded, sitting back and watching Sachiel calmly. Making space, it felt like, for him to voice his concerns. 

“He has had memories taken from him four times.”

Raphael winced. “That is … unfortunate.”

“Could I … could I bring him to you?”

“I am not sure even I can heal someone from that. I would need to find a way to fully restore his Grace, in order to reset his energy structure, as it were. And that is not something one can usually do.”

“Usually?” Sachiel leaned forward. 

“There was a case, just after the war … do you know the demon Ashtoreth?”

“I know of her, yes. She is like Dagon - she has flashes of clarity where she is sharp-witted, and fair.”

“Her dear friend, Anauel, was badly injured in the war, and her mind was damaged. I was able to restore her using Annandriel’s Grace - and Annandriel fell and became Ashtoreth.”

Sachiel felt as if the entire world had stopped, and then re-started with an entirely new shape.

“I never would have dreamed that was possible.”

“It is hardly safe, nor recommended. But she was determined, and clearly of sound mind.”

Sachiel nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak. The thought of losing his Grace, of falling … it felt like a thousand fanged mouths devouring him from the inside. But the memory of Aziraphale’s terror when his mind was taken by hallucinations was so visceral. And Crowley … sassy, brave, more vulnerable than he would ever admit. Seeing Aziraphale so damaged and being unable to rescue him was agony for the demon.

Sachiel knew all too well that he couldn’t keep them safe from Gabriel. For Heaven’s sake, he couldn’t keep himself safe from Gabriel. But he could restore Aziraphale’s Grace, and with it his mind. He could give them that.

“Sachiel, no.” Raphael’s voice dropped low and urgent. “I can tell what you’re thinking.”

“It would save his mind though, yes? You could catch my grace and use it to …?”

“Technically yes, but we are not having this discussion!”

“This is my decision.”

Raphael got up, shaking his head and pacing back and forth across the pale marble floor. Sachiel’s heart constricted. He loved these chambers. He’d spent so many hours here, learning. Suddenly the eons spent missing Raphael pierced his heart. They’d both taken the safest path, but at what cost?

And at what cost saving Aziraphale?

“Why?” Raphael asked him with open vulnerability. “Just tell me why. The real reason why.”

“Because I … I am starting to realise that this is what love is. It’s like falling, but for a person not for a belief. And you’d do anything to sustain them ....”

Raphael’s look was impossible to read, but when he spoke, his voice was raw in a way Sachiel had never heard before “You are asking a lot of me.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. I realise we must be very careful. I will … you should not be here when I fall. You cannot be incriminated. As to the healing part … I … Gabriel and his hench-angels cannot know …”

Raphael stopped pacing and looked at Sachiel as if he was speaking a different language.

“I mean, you are asking a lot of me by asking me to watch you fall. To help you fall. To let you go after … after the war, that first night …”

Sachiel stood up then, walking over to Raphael and taking his hands. The other angel raised his eyebrows, but his long fingers gently squeezed back, and a wave of love radiated into Sachiel.

“You can’t …” he whispered. “You won’t be an angel again. You do know that?”

“I am aware. There is no path back.”

Raphael gazed at him for a long time, with a look so sorrowful that Sachiel started to wonder if he was making a mistake.

“Tell me the truth, Sasha.” (and oh, how that old nickname, slipping out so naturally, hurt his heart.) “If I say no, what will you do?”

Sachiel almost smiled. “I’ll do it anyway. Find a way to store my own grace and give it to him. I know a few healing tricks myself. Learned from the best.”

Raphael nodded, clasping Sachiel’s hands and raisting them so their joined hands were at heart level. After a moment’s hesitation, in which Sachiel could see the age-old indoctrination against touch and intimacy warring with his true impulses, Raphael leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. 

“Then I will help you.”

Sachiel closed his eyes, fingers squeezing tighter against his mentor’s, wishing in the smallest, quietest chamber of his heart that they could have had this all along. Then with a slight shake of his head, he steeled himself, and led the way to the Eternal Cliff. 

Standing at the edge of it was even more terrifying than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t just a way to fall. The Cliff butted up against a swirling primordial mass, a morass of anger and fear and longing, mixed in with the concept of eternity and threads of the very structure of the universe. It was known as the Antecedent, because it came before all things except God, and rumour was that many an angel had lost their mind while looking at it, negating the need to fall, for they were already too far gone. 

“Sachiel … are you certain?”

Raphael was back to his composed self, but his eyes were haunted in a way Sachiel knew he would never forget.

“As sure as I could be, given the circumstances.”

Sachiel pressed his hand to his midsection, feeling his Grace thrumming. It connected him to Her, and indeed was the very essence of who he was. Yet what did it mean, to be connected to a God who threw her angels into this screaming, swirling mass? What did it mean to be good? It certainly wasn’t to do with being connected to God. Crowley was as estranged from Her as it was possible to be, and he was one of the best people Sachiel had ever met. 

With one last look at Raphael, he stepped towards the Cliff.

*****

Whatever he’d expected falling to feel like, it hadn’t been this. He was being dragged backwards, hard enough that he sprawled on the stony ground of the bluff. A black-clad figure filled his vision, with a tumble of copper hair. Then he was being dragged to his feet, and a very frustrated demon was shouting to be heard above the wind.

“What were you thinking?” Crowley was near screaming, hands tight on Sachiel’s upper arms, shaking him. 

“I was thinking that I cannot bear to see Aziraphale suffering when I could help him!”

“That’s not … that’s. You can’t just FALL.”

“Why not?” Sachiel was aware of how tight his voice sounded.

“Because you … you … you just can’t! Also, who the Hell are you and why didn’t you stop him?”

“I’m Raphael.”

Crowley rolled his eyes as if that told him all he needed to know, turning back to Sachiel, his grip uncomfortable enough that Sachiel was certain he would have bruises. 

“I am so bloody angry with you right now!” he snarled.

“Crowley, I know it would be hard, but surely it would be worth it …”

Crowley stepped closer so they were practically nose to nose. Sachiel felt himself tremble from the nearness of him, which seemed rather inappropriate given the circumstances.

“We’re finding another way, and that’s the end of it.”

“Since when did you have command over my actions?”

“Since you’ve proven yourself capable of making the most monumentally stupid decisions!”

Crowley was breathing hard, his voice tight and sibilant as if he was fighting the urge to hiss. Unthinking, Sachiel reached up and cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, wanting to reassure him, somehow, and desperate to get him out of Heaven, where he could surely never be safe.

And then Crowley kissed him. Hard.

For a moment, Sachiel was too shocked to respond. There was no use in denying to himself that he’d thought of kissing Crowley many times, but it was one thing to think it and quite another to find himself in the middle of it. 

Crowley had one hand cupped behind his head as if to hold him in place, the other releasing his upper arm in favour of fisting in his shirt. His kiss was searing, demanding a response, one that Sachiel was longing to give. 

Everything else fell away around him. Heaven, Gabriel, falling … there was nothing left but the passion of Crowley’s mouth claiming his as if it had always belonged to the demon, and the iron and smoke taste of him as he tugged at Sachiel’s lower lip with his teeth, encouraging him to part his lips for Crowley’s tongue. He buried his hands in Crowley’s hair, tugging pleadingly at the long locks as he kissed him back as best he could, lost in the messy, clumsy, want of it. 

“You. Are. Not. Going. To. Fall.” Crowley gasped out between rough kisses, holding on to Sachiel as if he might fling himself over the Cliff at any moment. “Do you understand me?”

Any answer Sachiel might have given was lost to a ragged moan as Crowley’s hand slid down to his lower back, and pulled him tight against the demon. For a wild moment he realised what desire felt like, and knew that if Crowley wanted him right there on the floor of Heaven, his only objection would be the pain of death if they got caught. The thought sobered him instantly and he gently pushed against Crowley’s chest, moving him back.

“Not safe,” he explained breathlessly. “And should probably talk about this.”

“Yeah, alright. Not here, though. Home?”

Sachiel nodded, his hands still trembling, unable to keep from staring at Crowley. But he couldn’t leave without - 

“Sachiel.” Raphael approached quickly. “I can't bear you to leave again without giving me some idea when I shall see you again. Please…” He stopped, brow furrowing as if listening intently. “You should go now, before you get caught. Be careful, for goodness’ sake. And … and please get in touch, if you can ...”

“I will.” Sachiel said quietly, his heart hurting at the pain of leaving so soon. But Raphael couldn’t just stroll out of Heaven, and Sachiel dared not stay, not yet. He was about to speak again, unsure what to say but knowing he needed to say more. There was a sudden footfall approaching the Cliff, and he turned to Sachiel, speaking urgently.

“Go. I’ll stall them. Crowley, keep him safe.” 

“I will.”

“I’m not leaving if you’re in danger,” Sachiel protested.

“There’s no time!” Raphael insisted, his expression fearful. Sachiel hadn’t seen that look since he’d nearly died after Dagon’s fall.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Crowley said, pulling Sachiel away. “He’ll be safer without us here.”

Sachiel gave in, and Crowley dragged him behind a nearby bluff. The demon lifted his hand, but before he could snap, Sacheil seized his wrist. They couldn’t leave without knowing Raphael would be alright. 

From the Cliff, he heard Michael’s clipped tones.

“What are you doing up here?”

“I might ask you the same.” Raphael said calmly.

“I was looking for Sachiel. His behaviour was quite suspicious earlier.”

“Definitely a trace of demon energy here, boss.” Sachiel didn’t recognise the other angel’s voice. “What’s a demon doing up here?”

“Well?” Michael said again.

“Michael, you know I am neutral in all affairs. I perform healing when needed, and nothing more.”

Michael gave a frustrated noise.

“You’re on thin ice, healer,” she snarled. “Come with me now, I want to see you back in your chambers and out of my way.”

“We’ve got to go,” Crowley whispered urgently, and miracled them back to the bookshop, Sachiel’s mind whirling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed it, let me know - comments keep an author's creativity flowing! Plus knowing what you see in it helps me dig deeper too, and makes the fic even better :)
> 
> I'm always happy to yell about Good Omens. Find me on [ Tumblr](http://zadusk.tumblr.com) and don't be shy - I like meeting new GO people!
> 
> **Behind the scenes notes**
> 
> Well I didn't know I was going to be writing Raphael as a character, until I was writing Raphael as a character. I had said to Mira that I was looking to introduce new elements to keep the story interesting, and I got these two! This is not a complaint. It's interesting to explore their history, and I'm intrigued to see how Crowley reacts to having another Archangel in his life. (Spoiler alert: I don't think he loves me for putting him through it.)
> 
> Fun fact! The Eternal Cliff is actually based on a dream I had about just such a place, with just such an energy, before I'd even seen Good Omens. I did change some details though. In the dream there was a supermarket beside the cliff, a never-ending roller coaster in the swirly soupy energy, and Meryl Streep was God.


End file.
